


you are something i should do without

by loveontherocks



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Angst, Blood Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Sad Ending, Vampire AU, general vampire au-ness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 19:19:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5387342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveontherocks/pseuds/loveontherocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It’s been a handful of days, and quite honestly, Liam is content to spend the rest of eternity lying in bed watching Zayn smoke a cigarette, standing naked by the open window while it rains. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>There’s a sated warmth that sits underneath Liam’s skin as he lays there, watching Zayn, blinking his eyes closed like sleep will take him. It doesn’t; he’s too keyed up even though every part of his spent body aches when he moves. Liam sits up and Zayn turns to look at him. He’s a mess, but it’s lovely; his hair is askew, marks all over his body, made by Liam’s mouth and his teeth, he’s covered in sweat and come and there’s a smear of blood on his chest and—</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Something possessive bubbles up inside of Liam. Mine. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>He doesn’t quite know what to do with that feeling, the need to have Zayn right by his side, lying there, breathing softly as he sleeps, or humming dirty songs in the kitchen as he forces himself to make breakfast or lunch, or talking with that voice and that lilt of an accent that makes his words sound colorful. Liam doesn’t know what to do with that need. </i>
</p><p>or; Liam's a vampire and Zayn doesn't remember anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you are something i should do without

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ziamfcks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziamfcks/gifts).



> Hello! Many apologies for this being sooooo late. But here you go. A vampire au. Some elements are taken from TVD mythology, so there's that. A special thanks to so many people for being cheerleaders and betas for this fic. It wouldn't have been written and posted without you guys. Ultimately, this fic is for ziamfcks, who asked for lots of angst and sexual blood sucking. I'm pretty sure I provided more than enough of both. I'm so glad it's finally done and posted after a solid month of continuous groaning. It was a lot of fun to write!
> 
> I don't own anything or anyone and everything is made up.
> 
> The title comes from Banks' "Under the Table". 
> 
> Any and all typos are my own. Please, enjoy.

The sun’s setting; there’s an orange glow that filters through the heavy drapes covering the windows.

He’s barely awake. It’s not that he needs to sleep during the day, it’s that there isn’t anything to do if he’s awake. He just can’t stand being stuck inside where he’s confined; he might as well be chained up and frankly, Liam’s not into that.

The door to the bedroom slams open and Liam sits up and finds—well, it’s just Niall.

He doesn’t look too happy, and Liam can understand that, can understand why; Niall did have to jump through certain hoops for him.

When Liam feels something tossed at his chest, he’s infinitely relieved—his freedom is back. It’s a ring, a thick silver band of metal, a blue gem in the center. Liam isn’t sure why the hell they’re so ugly, but it is what it is. He gets to walk outside, of course he’s going to wear the damned thing.

“Look, mate,” Niall starts, his voice lilting over his words in that charming Irish accent. He steadies his crystal blue eyes on Liam. “Lose it again, and Louis isn’t gonna make you another. He sends his regards, by the way.”

Liam tilts his head to the side. “Does he really?”

“As if, mate,” Niall snorts. “Took a lot of convincing to get him to make that. Says you oughta burn to a crisp.”

“That’s more like it.” 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Niall picks at the covers, then runs his fingers through his blonde hair. “Just don’t go around starting trouble again. Believe it or not, Liam, there are vampires older than you. And if you keep fucking around, I’m not going to be there to save you. You’re not invincible. And as much of a pain in the ass you are, I’d rather keep you around a few more centuries.”

Feeling soft, Liam chuckles. There isn’t much time these days to feel as vulnerable as he does right now with Niall, what with Niall off being leader of an ever growing clan of vampires. Quite simply, Niall’s always been there for him, for more years than Liam cares to think about, when Liam's gotten himself into more trouble than he can own up to. If there’s anyone he can rest easy around, it’s Niall.

“Just a few?” Liam teases.

Niall purses his lips. “You’re pushing it, yeah? Go shower, you smell rank. And get yourself something to eat. You look emaciated.”

Liam rolls his eyes, “Yeah well. I was wallowing in self-pity. Life isn’t all that great when you can only go out at night. It’s _boring_.”

“You could have at least gotten yourself a snack. You aren’t handicapped, are you? No.” Niall rolls his eyes and leaves the room.

Left alone, Liam stretches the length of his body, kicks the blankets off his legs. The sun is just setting and the night is only beginning, and with the ring, he feels a buzz of …. He doesn’t quite know what to call it, but he’s aware of it, how absent it was with without the ring when it’s been a part of him for centuries. He doesn’t like being restrained; it makes sense for him to have his freedom. For him to walk the night like a restricted creature doesn’t make him feel like himself. He’s a person, first and foremost, even if he is a little bit different.

-

He’s dressed; a leather jacket that’s mostly for looks adorns his shoulders. His faded blue jeans have holes in the knees and his t-shirt is white and worn so thoroughly that it feels soft over his cool skin. Looking in the mirror, he picks at his hair and adjusts where his belt sits. The elaborate watch on his wrist reads a little after eleven. His footsteps are loud against the wooden floor when he takes his leave.

Liam, for the lack of a better word, is voracious. It happens; he binges and starves, then goes on another binge again. It’s easy to feel his humanity shut down when he’s blinded by his hunger. There aren’t people around his house for miles and he likes it that way. The only other person he cares for is Niall, and that bond is created by blood because Niall’s the old vampire that created _him_.

He doesn’t invite people back to the manor, doesn’t bring home girls to dance with and drink from, boys to fuck when he’s bored. He’s a creature of habit, of routine, and he can’t have human scent tainting the spaces he wallows in when hunger sets deep in his bones and it’s all he can think about; sinking his teeth into sinuous flesh, the rush he feels when the sound of a heart beat goes off like a horse in a race, and then slows, dangerously, until the beating of a human heart is just an echo in his ears and his hands are carrying dead weight. It’s not often he gets reckless, but he can’t help it, lately.

He doesn’t _try_ to help it. It’s who he is, who he’s been for a long time. It’s programmed and set into the marrow in his bones, the electric currents in his brain.

Like Louis says, _it is what it is_. There is no changing it.

-

It doesn’t matter the time of night, London is always teeming with people, with life; with blushing cheeks and warm fingertips, with curious eyes and bodies moving, brushing, walking and running and shaking with excitement or fear or want. _Lust_.

As much as he loves routine, he doesn’t take a certain route tonight. He just wants to have a bit of fun, test the waters. There’s a burn in his throat and his gums are aching and he can feel the buzzing inside of him, in the pit of his stomach; he’s surrounded by bodies full of blood. He can reach out and snatch a wrist, bare his teeth and bite down into the first person he sees, but he doesn’t.

It’s easier to feed under the guise of the night, even easier when he’s crowded by kids in their mid-twenties, sweaty bodies that can’t tell right from left; night clubs are literal feeding grounds.

Liam doesn’t have to complain about money; he takes what he wants when he wants it. If not by the charm of his smile, then definitely by force—all mental; he isn’t particularly one for much violence.

There’s a line wrapped around the building of the club he’s chosen. The bouncer is a big man, burly, with corded muscles in his arms and a scowl permanently etched into his face.

Liam grins, walking up to him, shoving the tips of his fingers in the front pockets of his jeans. “I’ve got a couple blokes waiting for me inside, mate,” Liam says easily, keeping his posture confident, slightly arrogant.

The bouncer glances at him, blinks. “Yeah, and you can meet them when it’s your turn. Back of the queue, _mate_ ,” he says.

Liam’s grin doesn’t falter. In fact, it widens, just short of Liam baring his teeth. He steps forward, and when the bouncer catches Liam’s eyes, Liam holds his gaze, compels him.

“Let me in,” Liam says. There’s a hazy moment, like the bouncer is mystified, and then Liam blinks, and the bouncer is pulling the rope aside, stepping out of the way so Liam can pass.

Even after the centuries Liam’s been alive, it never gets old, the power that thrums through him each time he takes hold of someone’s mind. With how hungry he is, he’s surprised it worked; he’s not nearly as strong as he can be, but humans are fragile and weak—it doesn’t take much for someone like Liam to overpower them.

Liam walks inside, takes a moment to survey the area before he goes in any further; there’s a bar set up near the entrance, and the rest of the space is slightly dominated by the throng of people pressed in close. There are tables lined up against the walls and it’s dark, dimly lit by colorful splashes of light. The bump of the bass line is thick and heady and the scent of human smell fresh, tainted by perfume and cologne and sweat and—Liam can smell the _want_ like it’s mixing with the oxygen, a cloud of lust that blankets the enormous room.

Liam licks over his teeth, grins to himself.

-

If there’s anything Liam’s learned, there isn’t much of a difference between a man and a woman.

Yes, there are the obvious differences, the voluptuous curve of a woman’s waist, the flare of her hips, the swells of her breasts, the daintiness of her ankles that rivals a man and his hard lines and planes, thick muscles and strong jawlines. But in the shrouding darkness, a body is a body, desperate to be pleased, thrumming with energy, hearts pumping blood to keep the circulation going for just one more dance. Men, women; they’re alike in most ways.

Liam lets himself be taken away, skipping from one dance partner to another, buying drinks for the girls and even the boys, too. And when they let Liam get too close, close enough that he can mouth at their throats, Liam dives in.

It’s sweet, is the thing; not like chocolate or candy, though. It’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced; it gives him life, literally, when he’s got his teeth stuck in soft, supple flesh, and there’s the heat of blood on his tongue, thick and warm, sliding down his throat. And—

It’s sexy; the way his partner throws back their head to bare their flesh, legs widening to fit Liam in between their thighs. It’s the promise of naked flesh pressed together, making him hard in his jeans; it’s soft hands on his skin pulling him closer and begging him not to stop, fingertips pressing into his back, coaxing him to stay. It’s the scent of skin, the sound of blood rushing, the tantalizing melody of a heart beating wildly.

And then it’s over, Liam’s got his fill and he’s pushing away, looking deep into his partner’s blue or green or grey or brown eyes and sending them away with an intrusive, compelling thought, “Drink some water, and go dance some more. You won’t remember this.” And his partner runs away on wobbly legs, and Liam watches with a frown because he isn’t full yet, but he isn’t out for the kill tonight. Just for a little fun. The mind compulsion helps.

So he goes back out, dances with some girls and gets his hands up their skirts, and he presses boys against the wall in dark corners of the club until he can’t drink anymore, until he’s tired of compelling his victims, and the sun is due to rise in just a little over an hour.

He feels drunk and full and sated, well, partly, but he’s not in the mood to go home with someone, to fuck someone, so he drags himself away from the closing doors of the club and enjoys the sunrise.

-

It’s just after eight in the morning; Liam’s been wandering around sleepy London for hours; he isn’t ready to go back home, not with the sun shining down over him, soft and warm on his skin. The blood makes his skin warmer than when he’s been starving himself, but it’s nothing quite like the temperature of a human. It’s something he longs for, he thinks, when his mind is quiet and he thinks of the days, centuries ago, before he became this.

He doesn’t hate himself; that’s far from it. He loves who he is, what he is, the danger that simmers in his veins, the power he feels after he’s drunk his weight in blood. But there is that steadiness of nostalgia, missing something he used have, something humans possess that he just doesn’t have anymore. It goes deeper than his desire for warm skin and the steadiness of a guilty conscience, but it’s useless to think about now; there isn’t a way to change any of it.

Saturday mornings are something special, not at all like any of the mornings during the week, or even the quiet laziness of Sunday mornings. They’re peculiar and weird, a mix of sedated and busy; shops are opening, and people are milling about, but it’s without the rushed manner people usually possess. It’s casual; conquests are walking home in last night’s clothing, people are grabbing breakfast, families are holding hands as they cross the streets.

It’s strange how time changes.

Liam walks into a busy looking coffee shop, buying himself tea because it’s more out of habit that he does so, rather than any benefit on his wellbeing.

He people watches for a while, claiming a seat by the window, taking his time with his paper cup full of tea. 

When an hour or so ticks by and Liam’s ready to sleep the day away after being awake all night, he pushes the door to exit the coffee shop and starts walking down the sidewalk.

Liam’s seen quite a few people in his time; centuries of pleasant faces, fit bodies, wondrous eyes and full pink lips. It’s so rare that he sees anyone worth really seeing anymore, so he’s sort of taken aback when he sees someone that piques his interest.

It’s more like a spike in his body that burns in his throat; it happens when he’s attracted to someone. True attraction; not the fake lust that transpires in a dark room with colorful lights. And it’s like he spins out of control because it’s usually _those_ people that Liam can’t quite handle, goes too far and ends up killing them because control is fickle, and he may have centuries of life under his belt, but it happens. Sad, yes, he knows, but it’s the life of a vampire.

It’s a man; he’s talking rather animatedly on the phone, looking slightly furious as his mouth moves too fast over words. He’s wearing a beanie over his head and his hair pokes out, black, set soft over his forehead. He’s wearing a white t-shirt, one that reads THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU _FUCK_ _YOU_ , like the plastic bags the cashiers package his purchases into when he visits a convenience store. His jeans are navy colored, and there’s a few of those bracelets little kids make tied onto his wrist. He’s some ways away, but Liam’s curious, watches him for a moment at the corner, stopping at the crosswalk. Liam takes his time to admire, because he’s beautiful, Liam thinks, gorgeous with the way the sun shines on him. He’s sharp cheeks, dark stubble, and a full mouth, eyes wide and round, but set tiredly. Liam watches as the man pulls of his hat to run his fingers through his hair before putting the beanie on again.

Liam doesn’t intervene very much, not anymore. He used to go out of his way to save people if he could but it’s been a terribly long time since he’s stepped in between people and fate. Of course, there’s something about the dark haired man talking on the phone that has Liam’s attention, especially when he starts walking across the street when the light hasn’t called for him to, and—well, Liam could have left well enough alone, but how tragic the world would be without that man’s face.

It takes Liam a few long strides of his legs before he reaches the man, grabs his wrist and pulls him out of the way of an oncoming car. They collide, the man into Liam’s chest, and the man drops his phone, looking up at Liam with wide eyes filled slightly with fear.

There’s a moment, just the two of them on the sidewalk, the man stepped in too close that Liam’s brain glazes over and—well, more often than not, humans resemble the art of Monet, but this man has to be the exception, looking even more beautiful this close. He has a freckle in his eye, just touching the edge of his iris, a blemish Liam shouldn’t be so taken with. His lips are chapped, but they’re full and pink and the stubble on his face only enhances the straight cut of his cheeks.

His wrist is warm where Liam holds it.

“Are you alright?” Liam asks, purposely not making a move to pull away from the stranger.

The man looks slightly frightened, like he’s processing what had just gone on, and Liam lets him have his moment, watches as the man looks back at him. “I’m fine, I—thank you. I don’t what I was thinking,” he says, and his voice is deep, lilting with an accent not native to London, not even close, but it is warm, soft and gentle, curling around his words like they taste delicious. Liam has an inkling of a thought that this human would taste just as fine, the kind of taste Liam hasn’t indulged in a very long while.

The man pulls away and Liam’s honestly upset by that. There’s a tingling in Liam’s palms that Liam classifies as the want to put his hands to the man’s cheeks. He doesn’t, even though he _wants_ to. Liam steps back instead, just slightly to give the man some space.

“It’s alright, I’m just glad you’re okay,” Liam says with a light smile, soft and gentle, and the man smiles in kind.

“Honestly, like, I’m glad _someone_ was paying attention. That couldn’t have ended well,” the man jokes. His smile is bright and blinding, and Liam’s brain is running on clichés, but Liam can’t remember a time where he’s seen someone so beautiful in a t-shirt and jeans, a floppy hat, and so much warmth in their skin.

“No, it can’t have. You’ll be alright from here?” Liam asks, grinning, and the man rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling, like he can’t quite stop.

“Fine, just fine, mate. I’ve got to get going, though. Thanks for saving my life,” he says, just as he’s turning to go, Liam catches the man’s wrist in his hand again, pulling his attention. The man’s big brown eyes find his own, confusion etched into the features of his face.

(Liam has seen a lot of beautiful people, but _honestly_.)

When Liam has his gaze, he asks, “What’s your name?”

The man’s smile is still in place but it’s frozen almost; his eyes are glazed over and he’s unconsciously still, not fighting Liam’s intrusion into his mind. “Zayn,” the man answers.

Liam smiles. He compels the man to forget the entire encounter with him, but not before he says, “It was very nice meeting you, Zayn. I hope to see you around.”

Liam lets Zayn go, turns from him and walks away. Looking over his shoulder, he sees Zayn shake his head, look around to find his phone on the ground. He picks it up, takes in his surroundings before crossing the street.

He doesn’t spare a single glance to Liam, and that doesn’t quite sit well with Liam. And yes, he’s made the human forget their little talk, but that’s just standard Liam-practice. He likes to be invisible. Yet, he regrets it this time. Doesn’t know why, not really, and perhaps it has something to do with Zayn’s Zayn-ness, but he’s slightly curious. Not enough that he goes and follows Zayn, but he makes it a point, for the future, to keep an eye out for him.

-

The sun sits right overhead; midday glimmers with sunlight, and it streams through the drapes that halfheartedly cover the windows. Liam doesn’t quite know what he’s home for, but there’s not much else to do in London.

That’s partially a lie, however, he doesn’t quite _feel_ like doing anything but moping around. He’s full, content; the burning in his throat is at it’s very minimum, a shy pain that Liam can ignore. He walks throughout the house, moving things about. The manor is enormous, too big for just himself, but he likes it here. It has character in a way the city of London just doesn’t.

It helps that there isn’t anyone around, not for acres, and he likes it that way, shut up inside his home without the burning eyes of nosy neighbors watching his every move.

With his ring, he can do whatever he wants; he isn’t limited to nighttime anymore, which is a relief. Liam enjoys his freedom, even if the ring is gaudy and ostentatious; he’s sure Louis does it on purpose, fashions these pieces of jewelry so people just _have_ to ask about it. It can get annoying.

With all the bedrooms in the manor, Liam enjoys the smallest room the best. It’s filled with bookshelves loaded with novels and diaries, encyclopedias and picture books he’s picked up over the years. While he doesn’t necessarily read them, they’re a comfort, a testament to how far he’s come since looking in the mirror hasn’t offered any consolation.

Sometimes, Liam wishes, like humans, that he’d grow old, grey, wrinkle up and die. Like nature intended. Instead, he’s inhuman, cold, feeding off innocent people, getting off and using them when he pleases, sometimes throwing them out. It’s—it’s just what he’s become, years of perpetual hunger dimming the emotions inside of him, quieting his conscience, his _humanity_. He doesn’t have much to be guilty about. There isn’t much left to feel but the power that thrives in his veins when he feeds.

It’s his favorite part of it all, really.

Midday leaks just a little bit of sunlight through the curtains hanging over the large window that faces the backyard of the manor. Liam busies himself lighting the fireplace, letting the thick smell of smoke ruin the dusty scent of the room. It’s comforting, the fire, even though it isn’t nearly as cold outside as it should be to warrant this kind of heat, but there’s something mesmerizing about it, something beautiful.

He’s never been one to sit and think about the people he’s met, but he does today, sipping from a glass of wine he sets on the end table next to the arm chair he favors.

There’s something about brown eyes that trump any other color; blue eyes, like crystals, are cold, green eyes dim, grey eyes like shadows, but brown, ever changing, spilling warmth and light, drawing him in just the slightest bit.

 _Zayn_ has brown eyes—

Liam sits in his chair, smiles to himself.

How long has it been since one person has crossed his mind like this? Thinking silly thoughts about eyes when he could have gone home with a well fit lad and fucked him, maybe had a sweet girl, one with red hair, ride him. He could have. But he didn’t, and his fingers remember, what it’s like to feel warmth underneath them, the softness of flesh willing to be held. Zayn hadn’t moved away, hadn’t been afraid of Liam, at least. No one is, not really, not when he conceals himself so well, not when he’s so careful to hide what he is. And by then, the lust has shaken down any barriers, any second-thought.

If there’s anything Liam knows, it’s that humans don’t care for much other than chasing the explosive beauty of an orgasm and the greedy joy of counting money.

Liam drinks from his glass of wine, drains it, refills and has another. And another.

It takes a long time for him to create the kind of buzz he’s looking for, and when he does, all he can think about are brown eyes with a little freckle stuck to the iris, like an asteroid not quite in orbit.

“What are you doing?”

Niall’s voice rings out into the room, uninvited, but not unwelcome. Liam thinks he could use a bit of company if he’s getting hard over brown-eyed boys.

Liam stretches out his legs, crosses them at the ankle as he gives Niall a curious look. “Nothing,” Liam answers, because it’s an easy answer, and also because it’s true.

Shaking his head, Niall steps forward into the room. He looks clean, dressed casually in jeans and a white and blue striped t-shirt with shades hanging from the collar of his shirt. “Useless,” Niall says. “When are you going to become a functioning part of society, mate? You can’t be locked up in here every day, only leaving when you’ve gone hungry and can’t keep up it in your pants.”

Liam chuckles, shaking his head. Niall glares at him. “I’m fine. This is—I can’t even remember what year it is, but it doesn’t even matter? I’ve got _plenty_ of time to become a ‘functioning part of society’. By the way, you understand how utterly stupid that sounds, don’t you, mate? You suck blood for a living, end of story. People who think they’re creative write books and films mocking us. Honestly; _garlic_. Hilarious.”

Niall comes towards Liam and picks Liam’s glass of wine where it sits on the end table. “You’ve got to stop doing this. Your little binge was fine—when you were a child. It’s been hundreds of years, Liam. You aren’t being careful enough.”

Liam frowns, looks up at Niall. “I’m _fine_.”

“You’re killing too many people, not cleaning up your messes, compelling people with no real conviction. You know what happens, then? People come looking for us. And where the hell do you think they’re going to look first, Liam?”

Liam rolls his eyes and shrugs his shoulders. “Your house first, I think. You’re the one with all the little fledglings, aren’t you? Talking about me not keeping it in my pants, and you’re turning anyone any chance you get.”

Niall’s jaw clenches, and Liam can feel the power radiate off of the older vampire; Liam doesn’t want to fall submissive, but he almost feels like he has to. He doesn’t though. He _won’t,_ is the thing.

Niall pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and his forefinger. “Liam, that’s _enough_. I’m being completely serious, mate. Now’s not the time for fucking around. You _know_ what happens. You’ve seen what happens. That’s how you lost your ring in the first place.”

Liam sighs, slumps in his chair. He’s frustrated now because— “What do you want me to do, Niall? We’re already hiding. I’m locked in this house for eighteen hours a day because I _can’t_ do anything. And when people start noticing shit, we leave. We have five years. _Maybe_ that. Until people start looking at us weird. And until then, I’m not going to pretend I’m not what I am. I’m already starving myself. What more do you want?”

Niall is unwavering and his voice sounds like a command. “Clean. Up. Your. Shit. Liam, I swear, I’m not going to tell you again. I’ll take the ring, I’ll take the house. You want to be that guy? Walking around at night and begging for someone to let you in before the sun comes up so you don’t die?”

Liam levels Niall with a careful gaze. “What are you really worried about, Niall? The hunters or the humans finding out?”

Niall huffs out a breath, placing one hand on his hip. “It’s the same isn’t it?”

Liam shakes his head. “It isn’t. Not everyone is out to get us. You of all people should know that with how long you’ve been traipsing around.”

“Watch it, Liam—“

“What? You can’t honestly think I’m unable to defend myself, Niall. I’m a big boy, I know what I’m doing.”

Niall shakes his head. “You’re too reckless. Stop the binging. Find a human, bring them here, keep them. You know better than to be walking around, biting anyone you can get your hands on. Why can’t you be normal and just keep a human around?”

Liam shakes his head. “Because—because it’s not right. It’s one thing to drink from them on a whim; it’s a completely different thing to keep one around. It’s—they aren’t pets. They’re people.”

Niall groans. “But you’re fine killing them after you’ve gotten off? I don’t understand you, Liam. All I’m asking is for you to be careful. People are going to start noticing if you aren’t.”

Liam rolls his eyes again, takes the glass of wine back from Niall’s hand. “Whatever. I’m not keeping a human, but—but I’ll stop the unnecessary killing. I’ll try harder at compelling. Anything else, _father_?” Liam asks, with a mocking tone, a playful grin to his lips like a petulant child clearly ready to disobey.

“No, you little shit. I’m serious, Liam. I’ll take the ring. I don’t care how old you are, how long we’ve been friends, or the fact that I made you. If you don’t shape the fuck up, you get the same treatment everyone else does?”

“You’re gonna drive a stake through my heart, Niall?”

“You’re annoying enough that I think I might just do it now.”

Liam grins in response, baring his teeth.

“Don’t fuck this up, Liam. I can’t always come around and save you. No matter how strong you are, you aren’t invincible.” Niall glares at him, sighing loudly.

Liam looks down in his glass. “Sure I am.”

Niall doesn’t stick around after that, quick to take the exit and disappear; the manor is huge, but Niall’s outside of the house and miles away before five or six seconds have ticked by on the clock.

Liam drains the glass of wine and leans back in his chair.

Of course he isn’t invincible, he knows that, but when he’s got blood pumping through his system, high on human life, it’s difficult to think otherwise.

-

There’s never a shortage of overcast skies in London. The rain falls in heavy sheets, slows the traffic down and leaves the sidewalks next to empty as Liam walks. He’s got a raincoat on, his hood up over his head; he’s not going anywhere in particular, but he’s been good, really good. His death count is zero, and he managed to let a boy give him a little taste this morning, so really, he feels fantastic.

He thinks he could go see Louis, because Niall is out of the question; usually so laid back, the older vampire tends to bottle up all his emotions and then it comes out in one big power trip. It happens every few decades; Liam will get on his nerves and Niall will blow up, take a few weeks to cool off and they’ll be back in business in no time. What are a few weeks when Liam has all the time in the world?

He’s just about to head into a busy looking coffee shop for shelter when his eyes spot—well, the one thing he’s not been able to keep his mind off.

Zayn looks warm; that has to be a talent really, to look that warm when it’s cold as fuck out and it’s raining harder than Liam’s seen in a while. Almost immediately, the rain lets up so it’s just bearing down little droplets.

He’s standing next to a girl, small in stature with a face of child-like features; they share big doe eyes and the same soft brown color in their skin. The girl has long dark hair that falls over her shoulders, and Liam knows that the girl is related to Zayn, a sister maybe. She looks sweet, and Liam takes a moment, debates on whether he should leave well enough alone, or if he should walk up to them, strike up a conversation because Zayn looks good and he wants Zayn.

It’s a quickly devised plan, one that has him pulling out the cash in his wallet and stuffing his wallet back into the front pocket of his jeans. He walks slowly, right in front of them, and just as Liam passes, he goes to place the cash into his back pocket, but really lets it fall to the ground, acting slightly like he’s none the wiser.

As if it’s completely on cue, he hears the voice of the girl, Zayn’s has-to-be sister, call out to him.

In the back of his mind, he knows this is slightly ridiculous, childish all on it’s own, very high-school, school-girl crush of him. He squashes down the thought and turns his attention to the little girl, smiling softly. He squats down so he’s eye level with her, fully aware of the way Zayn is watching with squared shoulders, overly protective. Liam’s buzzing from it.

“Hey, mister,” she says. “You dropped your money.” She’s sweet, lovely, reminds Liam of his own sisters when they were younger, too, with round cheeks and curious eyes, happy minds. “I like your ring,” she mentions, when Liam holds his hands out to take his money back. She points to the silver monstrosity with the blue gem that allows him to walk outside during the day.

“You do?” Liam asks, with a gentle smile. He looks at it himself. “It belonged to my father, yeah? He’s passed, but it’s like a nice reminder,” Liam lies.

The girl softens even more, like it’s even possible, brings her hand to rest on Liam’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I had a goldfish that died once. Mum made me flush him.”

Liam frowns to cover up the laugh that wants to bubble up and spill from his mouth. “I’m sorry about that. What was his name?”

“Promise not to laugh?”

Liam nods. “Cross my heart, love.”

She smiles so bright Liam smiles back. “It was Mr. Goldfish. I’m not very creative, am I?” she says. Liam shakes his head.

“ _I_ think that’s a lovely name for a goldfish.”

She beams, and Zayn takes that moment to walk up, take the girl’s hand in his own. “Who’s your friend, Saf?”

The girl looks to Liam and then back to Zayn, and Liam is looking up at Zayn, while Zayn keeps his eyes on his sister. “What’s your name, mister?”

Liam stands at his full height, eyes still on Zayn as he answers. “It’s Liam. And what might yours be?”

“My name is Safaa, and this is my big brother, Zayn,” Safaa says. She looks curiously at Liam and then back up at Zayn. “Can we go inside now, Zayn? You promised me a hot chocolate.”

Liam takes a fiver from the folded up money in his hand and gives it to Safaa. Her eyes light up.

“That’s not necessary, mate,” Zayn says, but his features are soft, too, like he’s endeared by the action. It wasn’t quite what Liam was going for, but it’s more than enough, the way Zayn looks at him.

“It’s nothing, honestly. She’s adorable, really,” Liam says. “It’s nice to meet you, Zayn.” Liam holds out his hand and Zayn takes it to shake.

“She’s the best, yeah.” Zayn pauses for a moment, hesitates, and then looks up at Liam with eyes brighter than the sun. It’s mesmerizing and Liam forces himself to listen to what Zayn has to say. “Would you like to join us? I’m sure, Saf, will talk your ear off about the most inane things, but—“

Zayn doesn’t finish his sentence, even though Liam wants him to, so Liam just finds himself nodding instead.

“Yeah.” Liam looks down at his watch, makes believe he’s checking the time like he’s somewhere to be, like he’s not desperate to be around Zayn for just a little bit longer. “I’d like that.”

Zayn grins, does this thing where his tongue presses up behind his teeth and Liam—fuck.

-

When Liam leaves the coffee shop, Safaa is sitting on one of the couches with a mug in her hands and a colorful book on her lap, while Zayn looks over her shoulder and reads quietly to her.

It’s never really bothered Liam to erase himself from people’s minds. He literally does it all the time. It’s second nature at this point. But after teasing and laughing with the two of them, Liam feels a bit like—well, unhappy would be the right word. Not that he’s ever truly happy, but right then, sat with Zayn and his little sister, he had a taste for it, what happiness could be like.

But honestly, do _things_ like _Liam_ really deserve happiness?

-

He does end up going to Louis’.

Louis Tomlinson is from a large family of witches. Hilariously enough, witches and vampires don’t get along very well, not really. There’s always some sort of disconnect between the two species, dating back centuries to before Liam was even born. Pop culture makes it out to be the vampires against the werewolves, when it’s not that at all. Werewolves are quite lovely, in fact, the few that Liam’s met, at least. No bad blood there.

But witches; well, they can be sort of nasty with the kind of magic they harness, the things they can do. Louis is—well, he can be an ass, but he’s one of Liam’s closest friends. As close as you can be to a twenty-three-year-old kid with a superiority complex because he’s so short.

Nevertheless.

The house Louis lives in is small, doubles as a shop for special herbs and tea and an abundance of witchy things that are more for fun than serious in nature. It’s convenient, enough, makes Louis enough money to live comfortably.

It’s nice in there, always smells amazing, and it’s lit with candles and there are books everywhere. It’s a home away from home, Liam supposes.

Liam knocks on the door, and waits for Louis to answer with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. He knows better than to just walk in.

When Louis opens the door he looks half asleep, rumpled up with messy hair and squinted eyes, wearing nothing but pajama bottoms. “To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing your face, Payne?”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Let me in, will you? It’s raining.”

Louis grins, his teeth white and eyes alight with the simplicity of mischief. “I see that. You haven’t answered my question, though, Liam. What are you doing here? Are you in trouble again? Don’t tell me you lost your ring, because I’m not making you another one.”

Sighing, Liam hangs his head in defeat. “Don’t really know what I’m doing anymore.”

Louis seems to take pity on him, opens the door to let Liam through. He’s had an invitation for years, since Louis’ mother has been running the shop, but it’s always nice to let the humans decide if they want someone to come in or not.

“Tea, then?”

Liam shakes his head. “Have you got a bit of wine?”

Louis turns to look over his shoulder, giving Liam a calculated sort of look. “That bad, then?”

Liam shrugs. He takes off his raincoat, hangs it by the door and leaves his shoes as well. Walking around in his bare socks over carpet in a room that smells like fresh tea reminds him of home, of his mother.

“Come on, Payno. Come tell me about it,” Louis walks through the house, comfortable as anything. Liam follows Louis into the kitchen. It’s early afternoon and there’s a slight stigma to day drinking, but if Louis doesn’t mind then, really, who cares?

Louis perches himself on the counter next to the stove after he’s finished setting up the kettle and handing Liam a glass half full with red wine.

“What is it, then?” Louis asks, crossing his arms over his chest, his crystal blue eyes chilly in the way they regard Liam.

Liam shrugs. “I’ve been alive for a really long time,” Liam starts.

“Amazing that,” Louis counters, rolling his eyes. “You’re a vampire, Liam. Tell me something I don’t know, please.”

Liam holds himself from reaching at Louis at smack him upside the head. “Let me finish, would you?” Louis raises his arms up and relents. “I was trying to say, I’ve never really told anyone about me. Like. People find out, yes, because I tend to get hungry from time to time, but I always compel them to forget. But. But maybe I’d like to tell someone. And not compel them.”

Louis makes a face like he’s disgusted. “And have a human know? You can’t be serious, Liam. You’ve seen how well that works. It never works. It ends up with a dead human or a freshly turned vampire. You know that.”

“ _You_ know,” Liam hisses, feeling anger bubble up inside of him like being shot down.

“Yes, Liam, and I’m not completely human, am I? I’ve had magic all around me since I was a child. You think someone, set in their ways, someone who doesn’t believe is going to accept the fact that you suck blood to live? You think they’re going to believe in magic?”

Liam sets the glass down on the counter, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, well, maybe I don’t want to be alone. And you know, a coven of vampires is fine, but loving one—“

“Love?” Louis chokes out, surprised. “You? In love?”

Liam sighs. “Not now but what if I’d like to be?”

“Liam. Babe. You can’t be serious. Honestly, that’s just you setting yourself up for failure. If you’re going to love a human, you’re either going to end up killing them, which is what I’m betting, or you’re going to turn them. And then you’ll have a vampire mate and then what? True love never dies?” Louis turns his attention to the whistling kettle and pours the water into his own mug. Liam sits at the small kitchen table and drains his glass of wine. 

“So, you’re saying it’s hopeless? I have to be alone for the rest of my existence? That’s a bit morbid, innit?”

Louis shrugs. “You’re the vampire, mate. I’ve an expiration date, just the like the humans do. And I have no desire for immortality. It all becomes a little redundant doesn’t it? Not to mention the fact that vampires can’t father children, and well, you’ve seen the size of my family, mate. It’s only natural that I’d want an enormous family.” Louis stirs his tea though he hasn’t added any milk or sugar.

Exasperated, Liam sighs. “I didn’t think you could get anymore insensitive and insufferable than you already are, but every single time I talk to you, you manage to outdo yourself. Honestly. You’ve got a real talent there, mate.”

“Listen to me, Liam,” Louis says, completely ignoring Liam as he jumps off the counter. “It’s a dream. That’s all it is. And it’s one you need to let go of. Last time we had this chat, you were fine being emotionally self-destructive, killing off pretty boys and girls because you couldn’t keep your hunger in check even though it’s been three hundred years.”

“And Niall told me to cut it out, or he’s going to take my ring. And you’ve said you won’t make me another, and I think he’s being serious. Either that, or he’s caught wind that something’s going to happen.”

“You think so?”

Liam shrugs. “I don’t really know what to think anymore, Louis.”

Louis pats his shoulders in a consoling manner, but it doesn’t really do anything to make Liam feel better. “Well, I dunno what to tell you mate. But you’re free to do whatever. Stay if you’d like. Or leave. Up to you, really. I’m going back up for a kip.”

And then Louis disappears and Liam’s left alone and that seems to be a pattern Liam doesn’t really like getting used to.

-

Part of Liam wishes his family was still alive. It’s been over three hundred years, nearly four, and it doesn’t really get easier. No, of course it doesn’t, not when he keeps dwelling on it. He’s far from the age of a child, in his early twenties. He’s not his mother’s small boy anymore, but sometimes he wishes he was, the simplicity of being a child, young and ignorant, where all he looked forward to was kicking around with the boys in his village.

It’s just—it isn’t easy anymore. It’s wrecking him; he’s deteriorating and it’s painful.

He’s the stone, and the ocean is beating him down, relentless.

-

In the dark of night club, there’s a certain sense of anonymity. It’s good for Liam, like he’s hidden, even underneath the rainbow splash of the neon lights. There are people dancing in various states of undress and inebriation, paying him no mind at all. Sitting by the bar, it’s easy to just watch his surroundings, the way the girls chat up the men, the way the men hound girls into dancing, quiet love transpiring between two boys against the wall, or the way it isn’t a secret when a girl tries getting her hand up the skirt of her friend on the dance floor.

Men and women; really, there isn’t a difference at all.

He lifts his drink to his lips but doesn’t get to take a sip; someone bumps into him, a tall lad with dark curly hair brushing his shoulders. He’s sweet looking, young, and when he smiles, however apologetically, Liam notices the dimples in his cheeks. For now, Liam doesn’t quite mind that he’s spilled his drink all over his clothes.

“I’m so sorry!” the lad says, with a voice too low to match the glittering youth in his eyes. Liam smiles, shakes his head like he isn’t bothered at all.

“It’s fine, mate. Just a bit of an accident is all, right?” Liam says, and the man smiles, sweet, so sweet, and then he’s laughing and it’s low, lovely, curving over Liam’s skin. He thinks, if this is what he’s taking home for the night, he’s done very well for himself, and he didn’t even do anything.

“Yes, but still, I’ve ruined your shirt, and it’s a really nice one,” the man says. “I’m Harry. And I could buy you another drink to compensate?”

Liam nods, chuckling a bit. “It’s not necessary, but it’s not right to turn down an offer from someone so pretty, is it?”

Harry bites his lip and sort of grins, like he’s shy. Liam has a hard time believing a boy that looks like his is shy.

“I’m Liam, by the way,” he says.

Harry lights up, and turns to the bartender to order a list of drinks, and then turns back to Liam. “Are you here alone? Would you like to join me and my friend? If I’m honest, he’s been eyeing you all night.”

Alright, Liam thinks. A threesome is always a little bit more work, but he could be up for it. “That sounds lovely, Harry,” Liam answers with a gentle smile, reaching out to touch Harry’s arm. Harry hands him a drink and carries two others, beckoning Liam to follow him with a nod of his head.

Just off to the side, in a dark corner, there’s another man that sits at a table, though, Liam would know that head of hair anywhere really.

“Who’s your friend, Harry?” Zayn asks, and Liam knows he has to pretend he doesn’t know Zayn, doesn’t know there’s a freckle in his eye, or the sound of his voice, or that he’s had lunch with him and his sister just weeks ago, but it’s easier than he thinks, to pretend.

“Oh! This is Liam. Liam, this is my friend, Zayn.” There’s a suggestive tone to Harry’s voice, and Liam’s taken back to Harry’s words, how Zayn must have been watching him _all night_ and Liam hadn’t noticed. How couldn’t he have felt eyes on him, watching him?

Zayn’s eyes are warm, a bit like the feeling of going somewhere familiar, wearing soft, worn clothes fresh from the dryer, or the heat of the water underneath the shower spray. It’s a little bit electric, like lightning and Liam loves it—well, he loves the way Zayn looks at him, but there’s that vacant look in his eyes, like he’s never met Liam before and he’s just trying to figure him out, get to know him. That; that Liam _doesn’t_ like.

He _wants_ to be familiar to Zayn.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Zayn,” Liam says. Harry busies himself with his phone, his drink halfway finished, like his task is completed as wingman. Liam takes it upon himself to take it a little further. “Would you like to dance?”

Zayn smiles, but shakes his head. “No, I’m fine here, thank you.”

Liam grins, picks up his drink and takes a well-deserved sip, enjoying the heat of the alcohol as it trickles down his throat. “Are you sure?”

“Go on, Zayn,” Harry cuts in. “I’ll be fine, here. I’m going to find Grimmy and see how many times he’s failed at pulling.” Harry leans over and presses a kiss to Zayn’s temple and Zayn looks nervous, shy and Liam wants to move closer, just a little bit and tip his head back so their eyes meet. There’s a thought, a tiny one, where Liam wants to break all the blocks he’s built in Zayn’s head, tear them all down so Zayn remembers that they know each other.

“Alright. Just a few songs though,” Zayn relents. “I’m afraid I’m a terrible dancer.” Zayn stands and Liam holds out his hand, which Zayn takes, clasping their fingers together.

There’s a hungriness on the dance floor that can’t be found anywhere else. It’s a mix; the alcohol, the pounding bass and sensual lyrics of the songs the DJ spins, the bodies pressed in closed together. Zayn starts standing a bit away from Liam, just an arm’s length away, but he’s dancing, a sort of two-step that lacks any sort of emotion. Liam’s sure if the light was illuminating Zayn’s face, he’d look shy, like he always does.

Liam reaches out for Zayn, presses their fronts together, so Liam is looking down at Zayn’s face, close enough that their noses brush and Liam can smell the sweetness of Zayn’s skin. Even through the shrill music and cacophonous noise of people talking and laughing and singing, Liam can hear the bursting rush of Zayn’s heart beating.

“Okay?” Liam asks, and Zayn, without a moment’s hesitation, nods in response, reaching his arms to curl them around Liam’s neck. Liam lets his hands press against the small of Zayn’s back as they move rather slowly that what the music calls for, but Zayn is pulling Liam closer and there’s the sensual undulating of Zayn’s hips. They move together, dancing, just looking at each other and—Liam just wants to take him home, really, lay him on expensive sheets and worship his skin, the flesh of his chest and neck, kiss up the inside of his thighs, find out what it feels like to be surrounded completely by this man. He barely knows Zayn and all he wants is to give himself over to Zayn.

It’s a dangerous kind of want, but Liam doesn’t care.

As they move, grinding into each other as the bass spurs them on, Liam’s hands find the naked flesh of Zayn’s back, the warmth of smooth skin, watches Zayn’s face as he moves to press closer, how he looks up at Liam with eyes wide and alight with lust. It’s gorgeous, Zayn is, something else entirely, an indescribable kind of beauty that forces Liam’s mind to exhaust itself trying to search for words that would do Zayn justice.

“You should …” Zayn starts, blinking up at Liam. “You should kiss me.”

Liam’s lips spread into a wide grin. “You think so?”

Zayn smiles, tongue pushing against his teeth. “Yeah, I do.”

Liam leans in, brushes his nose against Zayn’s, closing his eyes for a moment. “Let me take you home,” Liam says instead of kissing Zayn.

Zayn makes a noise, like he’s protesting. “If you want to come home with me, you’re gonna have to kiss me first, babe,” Zayn murmurs, pushing his hips against Liam’s and Liam notices he’s hard in his jeans, just from a bit of grinding on the dance floor. It’s riveting, enthralling, and there’s a feeling that combs through the blood in Liam’s veins, gives him that feeling of being alive.

Liam catches Zayn’s mouth with his own, just a soft press of lips, and in the span of a second, Zayn is opening up to him, turning the kiss from the gentleness it was to something explicitly dirty, something that makes heat pool in the lowest part of Liam’s belly. It’s thick, and it sits there, simmers, and Liam’s hands drift down from their places on Zayn’s back to shift over Zayn’s ass, pull him so he’s entirely flush against Liam. Zayn pulls back, like he’s going to say something, but Liam doesn’t wait for another kiss, just dives for Zayn’s neck with his mouth, spreading kisses with the softness of his mouth, nipping at the heated flesh, daring to leave a mark or two in his mouth’s wake. There’s something possessive inside of Liam, something that screams at him to not let Zayn go, something inside of him that wants to keep Zayn for himself, to keep him and not let anyone near him that could heart the breathy way he moans out, “Please, Liam, let's go.”

-

“Tell me about yourself,” Liam says. There’s a quietness between them, comfortable the way it shouldn’t be with two supposed strangers. But Liam wants to hear Zayn’s voice, even through a cloud of smoke that falls from between Zayn’s lips as he huffs down the nicotine of a cigarette.

Zayn looks over to him as they walk, grins lightly at Liam. “What do you want to know?” Zayn asks.

“I—”

Zayn cuts Liam off before he’s able to get a word in, saying, “This isn’t a date, you know? You take me home, I let you fuck me, _maybe_ I’ll even let you stay the night. That’s probably all you need to know about me. That I’m legal and that I want you.”

Liam laughs, pulls Zayn closer by their linked hands so he can curl his arm around his shoulder instead. “Yeah? You want me?”

Zayn sucks in a drag from his cigarette, chuckling. “Was it not obvious?”

Liam doesn’t say anything to that, chooses instead to lower his arm around Zayn’s waist. He likes the sound of it too much, knows he’s only going to walk Zayn home and make him forget about it all, but—but for the moment, Zayn wants him, and quite honestly, that’s good enough.

-

When they come up to Zayn’s apartment building, they giggle as they climb the stairs; the air between them crackles like static electricity, and they can’t quite keep their hands off of each other. Liam knows what’s going to happen, and even though Zayn shuffles to find his keys, Liam doesn’t let him unlock the door yet, just pushes Zayn back against the door, watches Zayn as he looks up at Liam with that smile.

Just as Liam moves in to kiss him, Zayn whispers, “I swear, you’re so familiar and I keep l trying to figure out why I feel like I know you—but I can’t.” Zayn’s hands come up to press against Liam’s chest, and Liam feels himself go cold.

“You think you know me?” Liam asks, instead of lying, instead of saying the obvious answer, because even though Liam’s blocked up Zayn’s memory, there’s a feeling inside of him, like he wants Zayn to push through the walls Liam’s created up in Zayn’s head and _remember_.

Zayn nods, shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. I just—I feel like I do.” Zayn laughs and it’s almost self-deprecating, but bashful. “Kind of deep for a one-night stand, innit?”

Liam smiles, leans in to press his mouth against the column of Zayn’s neck, and Zayn lets Liam, he lets Liam and it feels good, to be received by Zayn’s body this way, like it’s in Zayn’s muscles, like his body knows that Liam feels some sort of way for Zayn. It’s—it’s like they fit.

“I like it,” Liam murmurs against Zayn’s flushed skin, mouthing along Zayn’s throat. “I quite like you thinking we know each other. Like I’m unforgettable.”

“Alright you smug bastard,” Zayn chuckles, pushing at Liam’s shoulders so Liam will take a step back. Liam relents, licks at his lips while Zayn unlocks the door. “Let’s see how unforgettable, you can be.”

Instead of coaxing an invitation from Zayn, Liam catches Zayn’s wrist in his hand, and when Zayn looks at him, Liam blocks up Zayn’s memory, until Zayn’s eyes are glazed over and Zayn doesn’t recognize him anymore. Liam walks away, letting Zayn believe he’d taken someone home, had gotten  too trashed to remember the night before.

And that’s it. That’s all for the night.

There’s a hysterical hunger that shudders through Liam, and he could have acted on it, just gone inside with Zayn, just let himself be with Zayn the way he wants to but—fuck, it’s just easier this way, for Liam, keeping stolen moments.

Anything else is excess, an abundance of emotions he hasn’t felt before and he doesn’t _want_ to.

So, Liam. Liam just goes home, empty handed with fire in his veins, and Zayn on his mind, like every other time they’ve met.

-

It’s like Liam makes it difficult for himself; he meets Zayn over and over again—in the grocery store where Zayn stocks up on unhealthy snacks and packs of cigarettes, in a coffee shop where Zayn allows Liam to see his art and talks about Harry, his best friend, on the sidewalks while Liam traipses London for lack of anything better to do, in random places where Zayn talks so freely about the things he loves with Liam, his art and books and the people he loves—and Liam is keeping, _stealing_ every memory they have together.

It doesn’t make sense is the thing. He could have something good, but there’s the heated fact, burning inside of his mind, reminding himself that Zayn is a human, fragile and fickle, and as sweet as he is, as lovely as his voice is, as beautiful as he is, there isn’t anything that is going to change that. There isn’t anything that’ll change the fact that Liam is something completely different, a monster spoken of in terror tales written thick, leather bound books, made a mockery of on television screens.

Liam isn’t anything more than that.

-

It’s a tossup; most days Liam enjoys being surrounded by swarms of people, the fervent chatter of conversations and the excited screeches of happiness. But today, Liam’s not up to deal with it, not right this second anyway. It’s been too long since he’s binged, and really, he should stop doing this to himself, but—but he won’t let himself.

It’s agitating now; there are too many children running around, careless teenagers bumping into him, adults looking down at him like he’s just another kid. It makes him hungry, in the most terrifying way. He’s really—really, really—only here to see Zayn.

And he can’t shake Zayn from his mind. It’s been months, and he’s still erasing the charming man’s memory after every time they meet, like a coward. He doesn’t want Zayn to see him, not really, not when it’s so easy to steal moments of Zayn’s life and keep them for himself. Minutes and hours of Zayn’s time, time Zayn will never remember because Liam is selfish and he doesn’t want to ruin Zayn’s vibrancy, even though that’s all he thinks about doing, constantly, right next to sucking him dry.

So this is what Liam gives himself, trudging through the campus of Zayn’s university in search of him, whilst trying his hardest to ignore the people that walk around him and past him, shouting and screaming and being otherwise cacophonous.

It’s difficult.

Zayn mentioned he would be manning a booth. Liam entertained the idea that it would be something related to art or music, both subjects Zayn loves, or even books, considering Zayn’s soft passion for them.

He didn’t think he’d see a sign up at the very top of the booth proclaiming “KISSING BOOTH $1”. But looking at it, from where Liam is standing, there isn’t a question as to why it’s Zayn in there, kissing strangers. He’s gorgeous, undeniably so, and if Liam had been a student here, or even a stranger in passing, he’d go out on a limb and admit that he’d harbor a gentle crush on Zayn, just looking at his face alone. Liam’s attraction to Zayn goes deeper than just the burnt sienna color of Zayn’s eyes or the soft, charming quirk of his rosy lips, or even the way there’s strength compacted into Zayn’s small frame. It helps though; makes Liam burn with thoughts of undressing Zayn, sitting the man on his lap while Liam presses his teeth down into flesh so he feels it break and blood floods over his tongue. It’s a thought, a concept, nothing more than a hazy daydream Liam entertains when he’s alone.

Zayn’s grinning, and there are a couple of girls standing in front of him. Can’t be more than thirteen years old each of them, but like their dresses, they wear pretty pink blushes on their cheeks as Zayn gives them his attention. Liam watches as Zayn closes in on each of them, pressing his lips to the apples of their cheeks and sending them on their way.

And like that, Liam wonders about Zayn, what he’s like when he’s at home and there isn’t anyone watching him, with the high expectations onlookers have of gorgeous people. He wonders what Zayn’s like when he wakes up in the morning, if he eats breakfast, if he likes to wear socks to sleep in when it’s too cold out.

The hunger settles deep in his stomach and it grows worse with each thought of being this close to Zayn. He knows, at some point, he won’t be able to control himself, and with the amount of people around, it could end rather bloody.

There’s a calmness that overrules that lust for feeding, just a gentle touch of calm that pushes Liam to stand his place in line. It moves quickly, much to Liam’s contentedness.

When it’s his turn, Zayn looks up at him, and he gets the same look on his face every time he does. It’s soft, gentle, his eyes alight with burning flames, mouth slightly parted—it’s a breathless kind of look that makes Liam’s brain shut down for just a moment, a minute, seconds really.

Liam’s been around for years and years and he’s sure there hasn’t been anyone quite as beautiful as Zayn. Not even close.

“Hi,” Zayn says, his voice, like always, soft and thick. “It’s gonna be a dollar, mate.”

Liam grins, and pulls out a twenty-dollar bill.

Zayn laughs, and shakes his head, but his smile is bright, if not a bit cheeky. “What do you think that’ll get you, then?” he asks, arching an eyebrow to match the playfulness of his smile. Liam shrugs, places his palms down over the table that separates him from pressing his entire body to Zayn’s. He leans forward just slightly.

“I figure it’ll get me twenty kisses, yeah?” Liam says. “Or one rather dirty snog. Your choice.”

Zayn looks away, like he’s shy, and all Liam wants to do is grab his wrist and drag him home, to see if he’s this shy when he’s spread naked on Liam’s silk sheets and Liam’s teeth are grazing the insides of his thighs.

“For a dirty snog,” Zayn says, “you’d have to buy me dinner first.”

Liam leans in closer, just enough so their faces are close enough that Zayn could press forward and seal their lips. “Is that so? Do you kiss on the first date?”

Zayn sighs out a breath, looks between Liam’s eyes and his lips, but doesn’t make a move to kiss Liam. Liam feels the tension ride his body, the anticipation sit low in his belly; an all too different hunger.

“Maybe. I suppose you’ll have to find out, won’t you?” Zayn teases, and he does lean forward, but Liam pulls back, and Zayn looks up at him with surprise written on his face, but masks it quickly. He’s the embodiment of nonchalance, but if Liam listens closely, he can hear Zayn’s heart beating wildly in his chest. It makes _want_ surge inside of Liam, and Liam’s grinning.

“I suppose I will,” Liam says, like he didn’t deny Zayn a kiss he obviously wanted. And like every other time they’ve met, Liam closes their encounter with, “What’s your name?”

Zayn smiles at him, like his shy demeanor has returned and Liam is brutally aware that Zayn could have him wrapped around his finger if Liam would let him. (It doesn’t feel like he has much of a choice.)

“It’s Zayn,” he responds, and then he’s digging in the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a tiny notebook that useful for nothing but taking down the smallest of notes. He scribbles something, and Liam watches as Zayn tears the sheet out, sliding it across the table. Liam picks it up, and his eyes catch ten digits he knows he won’t ever call. He slips the note into his pocket anyway. “Please call me,” Zayn continues. “So you can redeem those twenty kisses.”

Liam likes the sound of it, like it so much he doesn’t move when Zayn leans forward and presses his full mouth against Liam’s cheek.

“It’ll be nineteen kisses now,” Liam says, with a soft smile, but Zayn is grinning.

“Or one _rather dirty snog_ ,” Zayn says, mocking the lilt of Liam’s accent. It’s playful, and dare he say, cute and Liam doesn’t know what to do with cute. Zayn steps back and Liam knows their time is over, but he just wants to stay and talk to Zayn, talk to Zayn about kissing, about anything. Instead, Liam laughs and—

He just walks away, looking over his shoulder as Zayn looks back at him, fully aware of him. And Liam knows what he did—or, he knows what he didn’t do.

Unlike every single time they’ve met, Liam walks away, and leaves each and every memory of this encounter intact in Zayn’s mind.

There’s a sort of peace Liam feels as he finds his way off campus and back into the city. But the farther away he walks from Zayn, the hungrier he gets, and—

“Hey, wait!” It’s Zayn trailing behind him, looking slightly out of breath, before he’s rushing up to Liam and pressing his mouth against Liam’s and it’s a wild surprise, but something inside of Liam snaps, and Liam is kissing back. It must be a scene, the two of them standing the middle of a busy campus milling with people staring at them, but all Liam can give his attention to is the sweetness of Zayn’s mouth, the way his tongue is wicked as it flicks its way over Liam’s, sexy and sensuous and Liam doesn’t want to give up this moment for anything, not for a single thing, enjoying the feel of Zayn’s arms around his neck and Zayn’s body so, so close.

“You didn’t tell me your name,” Zayn says, moving his lips against Liam’s, breath sweet like coffee and bitter like tobacco over Liam’s mouth.

Liam grins, breaking the kiss completely, laughing. “It’s Liam.”

“I’ll be expecting a call from you, then, Liam,” Zayn says, grinning vibrantly, rescinding his body and walking backwards a few steps before he’s turning around and running back the way he came. Liam can’t keep the smile off his face, fully satisfied with the thrumming feeling of Zayn expecting him to contact him, knowing that Zayn is attracted to him, excited for—for what? A couple of kisses? A hook up? Liam doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care.

-

It’s been a while since he’s indulged.

-

He’s on a ridiculously high floor of a lavish hotel he can’t remember the name of; he sits in an armchair by the large picture windows that show the London skyline. It’s gorgeous, brightly lit, and Liam can’t keep his eyes off of the twinkling lights that shroud the stars.

There’s music playing, something with a thick bass and filthy lyrics; he’s got a few ladies in the room with him, dancing around, half dressed with bite marks along their necks and chests, and there’s a few lads lying on the beds, watching the girls closely.

There’s power running through his veins, fresh and new, from being well fed. He feels strong, like he’s made of steel and iron, a man made up of anything but the fragility of flesh and blood. Liam isn’t fragile, he isn’t broken, and technically, he isn’t even alive. But he _feels_ like he is, when he’s filled to the brim with human blood and there are girls eyeing him and the way his shirt sits open, revealing golden skin that they want to devour.

He beckons one over, a pretty girl with wild curls and skin the color of mocha, eyes dark like tree bark. She’s gorgeous, even in her tattered dress where Liam tore through to get to her flesh. She climbs on top of him, knees wedged between either of his thighs and the arm rests, hugging his hips. She looks down at him and when he looks up at her, into her eyes, he sees that glazed look, like she’s not quite all there.

And she isn’t; Liam’s good at this, making people do what he wants because he _can_. Even though she looks a little dead in the eyes, he still finds the sliver of hunger, most definitely mirroring the same emotion in his own.

He pulls her forward, presses his mouth to the strain of her neck, down her shoulder where he bra strap sits; one nimble finger hooks underneath the strap and pulls it down her smooth shoulder. The other girls are still dancing, touching each other, and even the boys he’s invited have gotten up to play with the girls. Liam pays them no mind, just to the miss on his lap, the way her thighs tremble and her heart races; this is his favorite part.

The anticipation rides her—he can feel it, thrumming inside of her; her breath quickens and she’s shaking, fingers gripping his shoulders like she needs to hold onto something. He likes it; the sheer arousal he can smell dripping between her legs, pungent and thick; if it were any other time, he’d love to spread her out over the sheets of a bed and get his mouth on her, all over her, bite down where the flesh of her thigh is the absolute softest.

She sneaks in a shallow breath as Liam looks up at her, tips her head back. He presses his lips over the heat of her throat and bites down, right where her pulse hammers against her skin. He drinks until her pulse slows, until she’s squirming in his lap, rubbing up against where he’s hardened in his jeans; the blood is hot, thick over his tongue as he slurps it down messily, listening the way she whines and her hips grind down into him. His hands move from the shape of her thighs over the flare of her thick hips, up the curve of her waist until he’s come to her chest, pulling down the rest of her dress. His hands are quick to tear at the straps of her bra, tugging it off her body so he can touch her properly, feel the way her nipples harden against the palms of his hands as he drinks from her, listens as she moans when he gets one hand between her thighs. Liam shoves the lace of her panties aside and touches the tips of his fingers to her opening; she’s so wet, enough from the last time she was draped over his lap that he can slide so easily inside of her, the heel of his hand pressed against her clit.

He pulls his mouth away from her neck, leans back against the armchair to watch her grind down on his fingers. When she comes, she shakes and moans loud and unabashed and it’s beautiful; like all sex is. She’s a mess of smeared blood over her throat and come dripping from between her thighs.

She climbs off of him, wobbles away on shaky legs into the bathroom where the door closes behind her. One by one, he takes them, takes too much, takes their lives with the greediness and hunger of his teeth, watches them drop down until it’s just her, the one with the curly hair, beautiful and vibrant. She walks to him, like she’s so willing, and when she’s pressed against him, he reaches a hand to her face, cups her cheek before his movements are swift, quick, tipping her head back and biting down.

The monster inside of him celebrates the sound of her heartbeat slowing down, until it stops completely and she’s dead weight in his arms and Liam’s carrying her, setting her down on one of the beds.

The person inside of him, the man his mother raised, regrets it all. 

Liam buttons up his shirt, wipes the edges of his mouth and his chin, looks into the glass of the picture windows overlooking London’s nightlife—every hair in place, all buttons done up, his jeans immaculate; he leaves, letting the door click shut behind him.

-

It’s difficult, compelling everyone he’s come across to forget it all, the entire night, his face.

It’s difficult, and it takes a while.

What’s done is done.

-

The watch on Liam’s wrist reads half past three. He’s ambling aimlessly, something he finds himself doing more and more, even though part of him just wants to go home for a while.

The silence makes him too reflective; he’ll lock himself away inside of him mind, release everything he’s bottled up for the last few decades, and ponder over it all, try to remember when it was that he lost his humanity. It isn’t easy, looking back on the things he’s done to realize he isn’t a very good person at all. He used to be, but he just isn’t anymore. Manipulating, stealing, schmoozing, killing; he can recall the days he used to refrain from sinning, would send a poor girl home after feeding from her, instead of killing her and leaving a mother childless, and now.

Well. He’s walking along the streets of London, trying not to think about how rough he’d been. It’s the past, he can’t change it, and it isn’t likely to change in the future he knows, but he can still feel bad about it, right?

-

The manor is enormous, too many floors and too many bedrooms for just himself and Niall’s occasional appearance. But it’s home.

He smells like blood and sex and decayed lust, and the sun is rising. He climbs the stairs and finds an empty bedroom, one that hasn’t been used in while. He gathers his things, meticulously setting them on the counter in the bathroom. There’s an enormous bathtub that demands most of the space and there’s a window above it, large and overlooking the yard at the back of the house, where the trees gather and the canopies shroud the grass from the glow of the morning sun.

Liam undresses, looking out of the window, his fingers slow as he pulls the buttons from the holes of his dress shirt, and then pulling apart the buckle of his belt, pushing down the zipper of his jeans.

He feels cold.

The water from the shower spray is almost scalding, but it feels good, warm as he lets it sluice over the planes of his body. It’s been a busy night, and he likes the light feeling of letting the dirt and sweat and blood and sex wash down the drain of the bathtub.

When he shuts the faucet off, the sun has risen and illuminates the space of the bathroom with rich, golden light. Liam stands naked in front of the mirror; a period of reflection, something he tries so hard to avoid, but now, looking at himself in the mirror, he knows he’s done wrong. Is there something he can do to change it? Of course. Will he? Well, that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?

-

There’s a quiet that’s settled inside of him; it’s peaceful, an emotion that doesn’t linger inside of him for very strong. He’s a penchant for slight violence, and he knows there’s the man that used to be good inside of him, somewhere. He mistook power and ability for bravery. He isn’t brave. He’s crumbling, and even as he pours himself a healthy bit of wine, he ignores that. Ignores it all.

The house is empty and maybe he’d want to share it with someone.

He used to, at least. But now the quiet has become a norm, and he doesn’t know if that’s something he can give up.

-

When Liam wakes, it’s to a hand around his neck and he’s pressed down into his bed. He can smell the anger in the air, like it’s palpable, crackling like static. His eyes meet crystal blue and Liam’s knows what’s warranted this. Niall knows.

“ _Six_ people, Liam, I fucking told you!”

Liam isn’t weak; he’s got waves of strength embedded in his body, in his arms and legs, but Niall; Niall’s strength is backed by unbridled and unparalleled fury. So when Liam is dragged from his bed, and slammed against the nearest wall, Liam isn’t surprised. He’s more _numb_ than anything.

“Yes, Niall, six people. So _what_?” Liam spits, not meeting Niall’s eyes.

“I told you to stop, Liam. You _can’t_ be doing this!” Niall’s eyes are dark, and his hands are rough and Liam isn’t fighting him off, because he knows what he did was wrong. He knows what he did was the worst—

“I told you what would happen, Liam, I—“

Liam’s voice cuts through, soft and sorrowful. “Are you going to get rid of me, then?”

Niall’s eyes soften, and he drops his hand from Liam’s throat and steps back. Niall shakes his head. “What’s wrong, Liam? What’s all this, mate? Why are you fucking around like this?”

Liam shrugs, pushes past Niall and falls back into his bed. “I don’t know, Niall. I just don’t—I don’t care about anything.”

Niall comes to him, sits on the edge of the bed. “It’s been decades, Liam. You stopped caring a long time ago, and it’s not like you. What’s—“

“What if I don’t want to do this anymore? What if—what if I was okay with it? Being this and killing humans and fucking them and fucking around and what if I’m not content with that anymore? What if I don’t want this anymore?” Liam stands up again, because there’s energy vibrating in his body, because the sun is high in the sky and he should be sound asleep except—

“Liam, mate. Honestly, what’s really going on?” Niall asks.

“I just—I’m tired of being alone. I’m tired of being me. I don’t want to be me anymore, Niall. Not if this is all I get. Centuries of limited contact with humans that have expiration dates and watching everyone die and I just keep on going. It’s been three hundred years, Niall. _Three hundred._ And there might be some sick satisfaction to it all, but that doesn’t last. Nothing _ever_ lasts.” Liam looks out of the window, watches as the breeze topples over the canopies of the trees, rustles the branches so the leaves fall.

Niall comes up behinds them, takes Liam’s left hand.

“You should appreciate the time you have, Liam. I gave it to you, because you were sick. Because you didn’t have any time at all.”

Liam feels Niall pull the ring from his middle finger. Liam scrambles back from the glass, from the shining of the sun that gleams through the window until he’s hidden in the shadows of the room. He can feel the burns, quickly healing until his skin is unmarred, until it’s perfect again. 

Niall’s eyes find him, and Liam’s never been scared of Niall, and he’s not scared now, but there’s a strong feeling of defeat thrumming through him. He feels like a scolded child.

“I don’t know what you’re on about, Liam, I don’t know what’s going on, but—you can’t be doing this.”

“I don’t care, Niall. What are you going to do? Starve me for a few years? Teach me a lesson?”

Niall sighs in front of him, and shrugs his shoulders. “Something like that Liam.”

-

There’s a belligerent throbbing in Liam’s head when he opens his eyes. There isn’t much light in the room, just a dim lantern over his head, but it feels like he’s looking directly into the sun. Liam feels disoriented, a little out of it, but he knows where he is and he knows what Niall did. He let Niall reach forward and twist his head so it’d break his neck. And he knows it’s only been a few hours since Niall had come to him, but it feels like it’s been days. And he knows time will pass slowly and his hunger will get stronger and—

And he’s not sure what Niall is trying to teach him, because he already does this to himself, he doesn’t need to be locked in an iron room, with walls made of plants that he isn’t resistant to.

He lies there, stares up at his tiny source of light and wonders how it became this, Niall locking him up, for his own good, he knows, but—but he never wanted to be this. And in some way, he came to accept it, he came to love who he was, _what_ he was. But he’s deteriorating and it’s so quick, and part of him would give anything, _everything_ he had to be a simple human again, with blood rushing through his veins and a beating heart and lungs that needed to breath and _life_ thrumming through him.

He wishes.

-

He doesn’t know how many days it’s been, or if it’s been longer than that, but his body is weak, and he can barely move, leaning up against a wall in the corner of the room instead of the bed on the other side. The light is still on, brighter now, he thinks, but he knows it’s just an illusion, it isn’t really that luminescent.

Liam hears a bit of talking, but he can’t strain himself to hear it, can’t concentrate enough to try to make out who the voices belong to. He doesn’t even move—

He knows, immediately, one of them is human, and his body, attuned to it, sharpens like there’s a certain strength he can draw from it, knowing that he’s going to be fed. His tongue swipes over his dry, cracked bottom lip. He’s hungry, so hungry, it’s all he can think about.

“What a sight, mate. You’re looking a little—well, a little bit like shit.”

It’s Louis, fuck. Fuck Louis.

Liam doesn’t pay him any mind, stays silent in his cage and doesn’t move at all, even though all he wants to do is dart to the door and break it down, snap Louis’ neck back and sink his teeth into that pink flesh.

Whatever will get him to stop talking, honestly.

“What’s the matter, Payno? Has the kitten got your tongue?” Louis teases. And Liam’s resolve snaps because he’s easily irritable, and he does move then, rushes for the door and snaps his teeth from behind the iron bars. Louis grins, out of reach of Liam’s hands and _laughs_. It grates Liam’s nerves, but even then, Liam doesn’t speak.

“Louis, leave him be. You aren’t helping,” Niall’s voice sounds through, gentle and soft.

“This isn’t exactly a lesson, Ni,” Louis says. Liam draws himself back from the door, drops back down into the corner, spent and tired and he’s just … so hungry. His gums hurt, even though his teeth are already bared, sharp and slick with need. He knows what he looks like, gaunt and emaciated, probably, stick thin and sickly pale, like a true monster.

Everything he never wanted to be.

“You’re starving him? For what? To let him out so he can murder half of London? You know he’s capable. He was more than on his way,” Louis voice comes, sharp and angry, like he’s suddenly upset at Liam—and Liam doesn’t understand what’s going on, why Louis is even here.

“Louis—shut up,” Niall says, authority in his voice. “I’m handling him. I know what he’s going through, what he’s feeling. It’s like—it’s like he’s repenting. You starve a vampire enough, and he feels bad for what he did. It won’t kill him, but it’s close enough.”

Louis laughs, like it’s hilarious and it only serves to worsen Liam’s headache. “You’re actually serious. Niall. You feed him and he’s going to be sorry for what he did for two days because he doesn’t have any humanity left. I don’t know what he’s done, what he did to lose it, but he doesn’t feel bad for anything. You said it yourself; he’s been killing people left and right because he gets off on it, because he holds some sick need to be powerful and people I _know_ are dying from it. And what’s to say he isn’t going to start up again? What’s to say it’s not going to happen again?”

Liam forces himself to whisper, “It won’t. On my word. I won’t—I’ll stop. I’ll do anything, just— _please_ ,” Liam pleads, taking in short breaths, like his lungs can’t contain the air in them, like it’s too hard to breathe. He doesn’t need to, not really. It’s habit more than anything, but his chest tightens; his body is falling apart, he’s fraying right at the seams. Eventually, his coherence will be gone, too.

“See?” Liam hears Niall say. “It’s effective. Works every time,” Niall murmurs. “You don’t think I know what I’m doing, Louis? I’ve been alive five times as long as Liam has. Please don’t insult me.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, but Liam can hear retreating footsteps.

Liam coughs and his whole body shakes from it, and he feels like his bones are withering, turning to dust, and he’s going to disintegrate into ash and—

“Believe it or not, Liam,” Niall says. “I care a lot about you. And you had this coming. I won’t kill you, because you’re like a brother to me. But you’ve gone far enough, and it’s _got_ to stop. Do you understand me?”

Liam nods, because he can’t make himself stay anything when his tongue feels like lead in his mouth and his head is swimming with every regret he can think of.

There’s a jingling noise, like a ring of keys are being shaken, and the door is being unlocked, but Liam doesn’t dare move, doesn’t make a sound.

It’s the smell that gets to him first, sweet and strong, bitter like cigarette smoke and coffee and paint fumes. The sound of a heartbeat thumping in a chest resonates in the room and Liam doesn’t know what’s going on because—

There’s a human in the room with him, while he’s at his most desperate, and he doesn’t know what to do.

“Don’t kill him,” are Niall’s parting words and Liam doesn’t understand, not really, until Liam’s eyes settle on dark raven colored hair.

-

It has to be hours before the boy wakes; Liam’s been in the corner, arms wrapped around where his knees are pressed in close to his chest. He’s just been staring at Zayn, the way he sleeps so soundly, like he’s at complete peace.

It’s a test, and there’s one rule. Just one.

All he can think about is breaking it and ruining the sleeping boy until he’s just a mess of blood and lifeless eyes—he feels the shame trickle inside of him because all he’s ever wanted was to know this boy, know him and have the boy know him, too, with his soft brown eyes and pretty mouth curling around the words he speaks with that attractive lilt of his.

The boy seems to wake up slowly, just as disoriented as Liam had been. When he realizes where he is, he shuffles back, and Liam can see the fear on his face, the way he looks around—he knows Niall had taken him, that Zayn hadn’t come here willingly, with the intentions to help Liam. He knows Zayn, but the boy doesn’t remember that, doesn’t remember anything.

Zayn’s eyes, wide and alight with fear, settle on Liam, and his hands come to cover his own mouth, like he’s keeping the sound of a scream locked inside of his chest.

Liam doesn’t say anything, can’t, because all he wants to do is crawl over to where Zayn sits and beckon him to _be good_ and let Liam ruin him with his teeth.

It’s quiet, for a long while, and Liam can feel Zayn’s eyes on him, strong and scared and Zayn’s heartbeat hasn’t slowed since he woke.

Liam looks at him, tired, and fighting himself from rushing over to Zayn’s body and—

“What’s going on?” Zayn finally says. His voice is shaky, and Liam’s vision blurs, and his resolve is slowly fading.

“How much do you know?” Liam asks, deflecting from Zayn’s question, because he doesn’t think telling Zayn he’s the variable in the equation would go over very well.

“What? What do you mean? I don’t know anything—“

Liam growls, glaring at Zayn. “You _must_ know something about how you got here, about who we are?”

“I—I just—the blonde one, and the other one, with the dark hair—I don’t know. They came up to me, and asked me if I knew you and I told them I did, that we’d only met once—and I didn’t understand what was going on I thought you were—I thought you were _hurt_ and—so I left with them and it’s all very sudden and I don’t know, I just woke up here. I don’t know what—“

“That’s all?” Liam asks, standing up to his full height. There’s a pain in his stomach, a sharp stabbing if he so much as moves, pins and needles in his limbs and the entire situation makes him feel like he’s burning, like he’s been out in the sun without his ring. Zayn presses himself against the wall, eyes on Liam as Liam crosses the room to kneel in front of Zayn.

“Oh—God—fuck, please don’t hurt me,” Zayn says, and it’s then that Zayn squeezes his eyes shut, and Liam feels pity for him, but Liam’s body is singing, knowing that Zayn could make him feel better. He just—he has to _convince_ Zayn to let him.

“I’m not, I promise,” Liam says with his coarse voice, reaching out to touch Zayn’s face, cupping his cheek. Zayn doesn’t flinch away, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Zayn’s lips are moving fast, and he’s murmuring something, but Liam can’t understand what he’s saying.

“Look at me,” Liam commands, and Zayn’s lips stop moving, and his eyes crack open.

“This—this isn’t real, it can’t be real.”

Liam sighs. “It’s real and honestly, I’m really, _really_ hungry, and I _promise_ I won’t hurt you, but I need you to help me.”

Zayn’s eyebrows knit together, and Liam wants to smooth the worry away from the features of Zayn’s face. “How—I—please, please don’t hurt me,” Zayn pleads.

Liam shakes his head. “I won’t. But you have to be good, and you have to be still, and you can’t fight me, okay? Just—just let me …” Liam’s hand drops down to finger over the column of Zayn’s neck, over the spot where his pulse is the strongest, beating recklessly.

Zayn’s hand comes to stop Liam, curling around Liam’s wrist. “You’ll let me go?” Zayn asks.

Liam tries a different tactic, nodding. “Do you remember when we met?”

Zayn’s brow furrows like he’s trying to remember. “At the school?”

Liam ignores that it’s technically not the first time, but Liam nods. “I didn’t hurt you then, did I?”

Zayn shakes his head, and it’s like his mouth moves faster than his brain, because he’s suddenly saying, “You didn’t call me back either.”

Liam grins, knows how malicious it must look with his teeth bared and his eyes so dark, but it doesn’t seem to have an effect on Zayn. His heart is still beating wildly, and his face is strained with a smile of his own.

“I’m not going to hurt you, love. I just need you to help me.”

Zayn takes in a deep breath, closes his eyes. He lets Liam’s wrist go, reaches forward to clutch Liam’s shirt, and like he knows what’s coming, Zayn tips his head back for Liam, and Liam takes in a sharp breath.

“Come here,” Liam says instead; pulls Zayn’s body to his own so Zayn straddles the width of his hips and Zayn is just the perfect height to look down at Liam, with those big, curious eyes of his. Liam runs his hands over the edges of Zayn’s waist, presses his hands against Zayn’s back to pull him closer.

He has to slow down, because Zayn’s body isn’t for him to take advantage of. He needs to concentrate, but it’s so hard when he smells so good, like parchment and cologne and a bit like cigarettes and coffee and something like peppermint and something darker, earthy and rich.

Liam licks his lips, and leans forward, pressing soft gentle kisses along the flesh of Zayn’s throat, like he means well, trying to calm Zayn into being assured that Liam wouldn’t harm him.

“It’s not gonna hurt, right? You won’t hurt me?” Zayn whispers, fingers tangled in Liam’s hair; Liam can feel Zayn’s body shaking. Zayn lets his hand drop to Liam’s shoulder, fingers gripping like he’s nervous; Zayn’s other hand still holds a handful of the fabric of his shirt like he doesn’t want to let Liam go. 

Against the lovely, warm column of Zayn’s neck, Liam hums, says, “No, love, this won’t hurt at all.”

Liam sinks his teeth into Zayn’s throat, and it’s like everything in his brain shuts down and all he can concentrate on the complex taste of Zayn, so warm on his tongue, thick and wondrous, euphoric really, a little bit chaotic. Zayn lets out a soft gasp that echoes like thunder in Liam’s ears, sounds so explicitly sweet--Liam tries his hardest to take just what he needs—he knows what he needs, feels himself warming with Zayn’s blood in his mouth but—

There isn’t anything like this, the bonding between him and a human, sharing blood like this; he can hear the soft moans Zayn emits, just loud enough to reach Liam’s ears. Zayn’s tightens his grip on his shirt and Liam’s feels Zayn’s other hand come around the back of his head to keep him close. Liam is gentle with Zayn, both of his hands on Zayn’s shoulders, eyes closed as he sucks on Zayn’s skin, the taste of him thick and heady. It’s dizzying and he doesn’t want to stop, not when _finally_ is ringing through his body and he has this, this moment with Zayn, and—and he doesn’t want to give it up.

Zayn reciprocates, keeps his hold on Liam and it’s thrilling. Zayn thighs tighten around Liam’s hips and Zayn’s own hips undulate into Liam’s and it’s—it’s too much, for right now, for Liam to keep the kind of control he needs to keep himself from stretching Zayn’s body open to fit himself inside; it’s too much.

While Liam would love to stay just like this, he knows he needs to stop, knows he has to pull back, or he could put Zayn is serious danger. So Liam does, retracts his teeth and laves over the sores he made with the gentle wetness of his tongue, but he keeps his mouth on Zayn’s skin, loving the fact he knows how Zayn tastes now, how thick he is in Liam’s mouth, sweeter than any wine he’s ever tasted, lovely under the palms of his hands.

It’s not a cure; there’s still so much feeding Liam needs to do before he’s back in order, but it helps, quiets the pain and mutes the burning, so it’s manageable and he’s not wishing he was dead every half a second.

Zayn looks sleepy when he slumps against Liam’s chest, eyes blinking at Liam, wide and empty of the fright that once filled them. Now, all Liam sees is the lust, swirling around in his irises.

“’S that supposed to make a bloke hard, ‘cause—dunno what I was thinking this was going to feel like, mate, but it wasn’t _that_ ,” Zayn murmurs, grinning, looking a little bit dazed.

Liam laughs, leaning forward to press his mouth just against the corner of Zayn’s mouth. Holding Zayn just right, he manages to stand, walk over to the bed and disentangle their bodies, sitting Zayn down on it to give him a little bit of space.

“Where are you going?” Zayn says softly, like he’s sleepy.

Liam cocks his head to the side. “Nowhere. We’re both locked in here. I’m not sure for how long, but—“

“Were you taken, too?” Zayn asks.

“No. No, this is my punishment,” Liam reveals, looking away from Zayn, because suddenly he feels wrong, feels terrible. All he wants to do is lean forward and catch Zayn’s vision and erase it all, every part of this peculiar encounter so Zayn doesn’t have to remember him in this kind of light.

“What for?” Zayn asks, like Liam knew he would.

Liam glances at him, shakes his head.

Zayn raises his eyebrows.

“You don’t want to know, Zayn. Trust me.”

There’s a bit of silence, and Liam lets it happen; it’s a lot to process—there’s a reason they don’t tell people what they are. Most can’t handle it, and Liam knows that, but Zayn’s curiosity goes against that. Liam paces a bit, back and forth in the tiny space, feeling the weight of Zayn’s eyes on him.

“Are you alright?” Zayn’s voice comes, thick and soft, exceptionally warm. Liam snaps his vision up to settle his gaze on Zayn’s face.

“Fine,” he says. Liam slides down the nearest wall and sits, legs stretched out before him, crossing his legs at the ankles.

Zayn stands from the bed, crosses the small space of the room to sit next to Liam, with his knees drawn up to his chest. Zayn rests his cheek on his knees, eyes on Liam.

“You look different. When you’re—uh.” Zayn stumbles then, and Liam grins.

“It’s our natural state. It’s how we look when we aren’t hiding, when we aren’t blending in with humans.”

Zayn takes in a breath and smiles. “I was … really hoping you’d call me,” he says. “And I thought maybe it was all a joke, or you weren’t really interested at all. But this—all of this—proves that thought wrong, doesn’t it? I _mean_ something to you? Which is sort of preposterous, considering we’ve only met once but that’s how the stories go, right? You vampires are always fixated on humans.”

Liam raises his eyebrows, surprised, because this soft spoken boy, sweet in nature, has a quick witted tongue, and he’s not afraid to use it. Liam says nothing instead.

“Alright,” Zayn says. “I’m taking your broody silence as a _yes_ , even though it’s weird, because, we’re basically strangers. This is all very weird, you know? This—“

“Isn’t normal?” Liam supplies. “But it is, isn’t it? Because we’ve been around just as long as humans have; there are probably as many of us as there are of you. Just because you don’t know about it, doesn’t mean it’s not normal.”

Grinning, Zayn nods, “You’re right,” he says easily. “But for me to just accept it—it’s—it’s just something I’d never thought could happen. This is what happens in movies. Not real life.”

“Yeah, I know,” Liam says. “And don’t believe the movies. There are a few things that are true, but most of it is laughable to be honest. Rubbish.”

Zayn laughs, and he’s beautiful when he does. Liam’s mesmerized by it, the way his nose crinkles and his lips tinge a lovely pink. “How old are you? Can I ask that?”

Liam shrugs. “A few centuries. Not quite as old as Niall.”

Picking at a thread on his jeans, Zayn seems to contemplate the information. “Will I get to go home?”

“Maybe not right away; you’ve seen a lot, and—well, I’m not sure if Niall will just send you back out there.”

Zayn sits up, looks Liam square in the eye. “He’s not going to hurt me, is he?”

Liam shakes his head. “No, love. No one is going to hurt you. Not me, or Niall, or anyone. I promise you that.”

Zayn relaxes, falls back to rest his cheek on his knees again. “I … I can keep this all a secret, Liam. I can.”

Liam takes in a breath. “Do you really think you can? This isn’t something you can tell your best friend or your family. You can’t tell anyone. I won’t hurt you and neither will Niall or Louis, but there are people that can, people that _will_ if you know too much.”

“I promise, Liam. I won’t tell anyone your secret.” Zayn is quiet for a moment, eyes closed, and Liam would think he’s sleeping if not for the quickening pace of his heart. For a moment, Liam wonders what’s going on in his head, what he’s thinking, what he thinks of all that’s happened so far. He can’t just take it, believe everything and be _okay_. It’s not that easy. It’s never really been that easy. Not for Liam.

“Can I still see you?” Zayn whispers. “I mean. When this is all over, like. I think I’d like to see you again. Despite all—everything.”

Liam grins. “Even though I didn’t call you back? You’d have to understand why I didn’t.”

Zayn laughs and it’s a breathy sound, sweet and lovely and Liam wants to hear it again and again, until it’s all he hears. “Yeah. Dick move, but I get it.”

Liam moves, just slightly to reach out, press his hand over where Zayn’s got his curled around his own calf. “Why aren’t you—shouldn’t you be scared?”

Zayn blinks, shrugs his shoulders. “Do you want me to be scared?”

“No. _No_ , of course not. I just—it’s a normal human reaction to be scared. Even a little bit.”

Smiling, Zayn shuffles just a little bit closer, leans up against Liam’s shoulder. Liam presses a kiss into Zayn’s hair. “If you’d like to, Zayn, you can see me whenever you’d like.”

Zayn smiles, and Liam smiles, and maybe—well, for all that’s transpired in just a short amount of time, maybe being what he is isn’t as bad as he makes it out to be.

“Why don’t you go lay down on the bed? I’m sure it’s infinitely more comfortable than the floor. And you’ve got to be knackered, love.” Liam stands and holds his hand out for Zayn to take. He does and Liam helps him to his feet, walks him over the small bed in the room, lets Zayn lie back against the pillows.

“I feel like—I don’t know. Like you’re familiar? Isn’t that weird?” Zayn whispers, looking up at Liam from where he lays. His eyes are wide and wondrous, alight and glittering. Liam feels guilty because Liam shouldn’t feel familiar to Zayn.

But this is what Niall means, after all. He’s sloppy at what he does, but this time, it works in his favor.

“Not weird,” Liam consoles. “I mean, weirder things have happened, right?”

Zayn smiles and closes his eyes. Liam drops to sit next to the bed to watch over Zayn even though there isn’t any danger that can reach the sleeping boy.

-

It’s hours of quiet, Zayn’s soft snuffling as he sleeps off the blood loss, curled up on his side.

There’s a lot of time to think and Liam’s self-berating; what has he been doing? If he can be this way, restrained and kind with Zayn, why couldn’t he extend the same control before?

Niall comes in after a short while, a blood bag in his hand, a smile on his face. “Was that so hard?”

Liam doesn’t say anything, just catches the blood bag when Niall throws it at him.

“You understand what happened here, don’t you?” Niall asks.

Liam shrugs his shoulders. “I was bad, you spanked me, and I learned my lesson,” he says.

Niall sighs. “I care about you, Liam. I don’t want this to get messy alright?”

Liam purses his lips, tearing the bag open to drink from it, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth when a little bit of blood strays and drips down his chin. There’s a buzz that flows through him, like too much caffeine coursing through his veins. Liam stands. “How did you know about him?”

“I know a lot of things, Liam. It’d do you some good to know that,” Niall answers evasively. “It got the point across, didn’t it?”

Liam looks away, lets his eyes find Zayn’s face. “Don’t ever put him in that kind of danger again, Niall.”

Niall sets a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “You needed this. I told you to do something and you disobeyed me. I’m going to do everything to make sure you stay in line. There are rules for a reason, Liam. And there aren’t even very many rules. But you’re keen on crossing them, and I’m not going to stand by and let you ruin it all. Understand?”

Liam nods, finishes off the bag and tosses it to the corner of the room. “Yes. Understood. Can I just get him home, now?”

“Are you going to keep him?” Niall asks, holding out his hand to return Liam’s ring. Liam slips it back on.

“He’s not a pet, Niall.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “Maybe not, but you like him enough, don’t you?”

Sighing, Liam deflates a little bit. “I’d just like to get him home.”

Niall smiles, but he leaves without saying anything else, and the door stays open. Liam walks over to where Zayn is sleeping, gently shakes his shoulder to wake him. “Zayn, love? Zayn, wake up.”

Groggy and blinking up at Liam, Zayn wakes, yawning.

“Come on,” Liam says. “I’m gonna get you home.”

Zayn nods, sleepy, rubbing at his eyes with his hands balled into fists. Liam feels exceptionally warm when Zayn takes his hand and laces their fingers together.

Liam, having been down in the basement countless times, weaves them through the hallways and into the main room of Niall’s elaborate home where he snatches Niall’s keys from the hook careful to keep Zayn safe from creeping fledgling vampires. He then leads Zayn outside where the sun is up but hiding behind dark clouds.

Zayn gets into the passenger side of the car and Liam climbs into his own side, closing the door behind him before starting up the engine. It’s a soft purr, a gentle rumble as he drives off Niall’s vast property.

Zayn sighs. “I’m—I feel like I haven’t eaten in three days,” he says, chuckling as he looks over at Liam.

Glancing over at Zayn, Liam grins. “I suppose I owe you breakfast. Or whatever you want, honestly.”

“I like the sound of that. Can you—do you eat food?” Zayn asks, curious, shifting his whole body towards Liam.

“I can, but it doesn’t do anything beneficial. I try not to if I can help it. But coffee and water and wine; again, not necessarily beneficial, but—“

“So you can get drunk?” Zayn cuts in. Liam laughs.

“Yes. It takes a bit to, but it’s possible.”

Zayn hums again, like he’s pensive. “It’s kind of scary, all of this. As a kid, I was proper scared of the dark, like. Had a nightlight and everything, had to have my dad check the closet and under my bed to make sure nothing was there. It’s a bit weird to… like. Things I was scared of are real, you know? It’s kind of—it’s hard to process. Like we’re sitting here doing normal things and you don’t look anything like they make vampires look, you know? And you’re obviously out in the sun …”

Liam smiles, keeping his eyes on the road in front of him. “I’d burn up in the sun. Normally, at least. Like—older vampires, ones with witches for friends—they have special jewelry made, and it keeps us from burning. Not every vampire has that privilege, though. Especially not the newer ones. I spent a century indoors before Niall gave me my ring.”

Liam looks over at Zayn, watches Zayn for a moment before Zayn is jumping on his next question. “Can you see your reflection?”

“Yes.”

“What about holy water?”

“It’s just water.”

“So you can go into a church?”

“I’d prefer not to, but yes.”

“So you’re not scared of crosses?”

Liam shakes his head. “Nothing to be scared of.”

“How does a vampire die?”

Liam pauses for a moment, purses his lips. “A wooden stake to the heart or going out into the sun does the trick. That much is true.”

Zayn sighs. “And witches?”

“Like normal people; they age like you do, die the same ways. Only they have control over the elements, access to the dead … and whatever else they can do, really.”

“What else is out there?” Zayn asks.

Liam shrugs his shoulders. “If you can think of it, it probably exists.”

Zayn is quiet after that; Liam glances at the clock and finds it’s almost two in the afternoon. He can feel the burn in his throat, the telltale sign of his own hunger, but he ignores it.

“Are there—are there a lot of vampires in England? Like, I’m trying to think about everyone I’ve ever met? Like, is my baby sister’s teacher a vampire, you know? It’s weird thinking of it like that. That they can just—that they’re walking around here. Just chillin’, minding their own business.” Zayn reaches for Liam’s hand, laces their fingers over the center console.

“You’re the one that’s weird, mate. You’re taking this exceptionally well. I’m not sure if it’s just shock, or if you’re able to compartmentalize your emotions, or if you’re really just okay with all of this—“

“It helps that you’re handsome,” Zayn says easily. And it’s the last thing he’s expected out of Zayn’s mouth.

“What?”

Zayn chuckles. “Honestly. When you think of monsters, they’re ugly and scary and just—things you generally don’t like looking at, right? But--dunno. It helped that I already knew who you were.”

Liam thinks about that for a moment, lets him mull over Zayn’s way of thinking; he knows he’s struck gold with Zayn, knows this could have ended in disaster, but right about now, there isn’t anywhere he wants to be than with Zayn, who doesn’t think he’s all that bad.

-

He doesn’t hear from Zayn for days, a week, maybe but it’s understandable. He would need space to come to terms with what he’s found out, and as much as Liam understands that, Liam doesn’t quite like it.

-

“Knock knock!”

Liam groans from where he sits by the window of the living room when Louis’ voice rings out. He’s agitated enough that if Louis pushes hard enough, then Liam might actually kill him this time.

“What do you want?” Liam asks, turning his attention back to where it’s been all day, looking at nothing particular through the large windows.

“Oh, you know, just wanted to see you, find out how things have been so far,” Louis says, his voice abnormally chipper. Liam looks up at him, notes the playful grin and eyes teeming with mischief.

“Or, Niall sent you.”

Louis shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, but I _did_ want to see you, so it doesn’t matter, right? And it’s not like you vamps can boss me around. Just because you guys have sharp teeth doesn’t make you the boss.”

Liam shakes his head. “No, no, of _course_ not. But you have a certain ability to cause blood vessels to pop up in our heads and that makes _you_ the boss.”

“Listen here, Liam,” Louis says. “I didn’t come here for petty arguing.”

It’s then that Liam notices Louis’ carrying a bag, a bigger one, and the scent of blood is thick and concentrated from it; Liam’s hungry, so hungry, and it didn’t occur to him that he was whilst sat here by the window staring the days away at nothing important.

“Thought you could use a snack. You’re looking a bit pale, mate,” Louis offers, holding the bag out for Liam to take. He does, and he fishes out a blood bag, rips open the corner and downs the contents in just a few swallows. He’s reckless with the next few bags, ripping the corner of the plastic and drinking them until there isn’t anything in the bags at all.

The blood drips down his chin and he can feel it soak the front of his shirt. It doesn’t stop him, the animalistic urge doesn’t subside, even while Louis stands and watches with eyes alight with fascination.

“Alright there, Payno?”

Liam shakes his head. “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing and I’m ready to take this stupid ring off and just walk out into the sun.”

Louis purses his lips and Liam shakes his head, wiping his mouth with the palm of his hand. “Three and a half centuries of this. It’s getting old really fast,” Liam mutters.

“Don’t do anything irrational, Liam. That isn’t gonna solve whatever funk you’re in.”

“You don’t think so? I’m pretty sure it would solve just about everything.”

Louis comes to sit by Liam, hand on Liam’s back and his crystal blue eyes serious.

“Why were you there?” Liam says. “You let Niall put Zayn in danger.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “He wasn’t in danger, you dumb fuck. He was exactly what you needed. Something to bring you to your senses because you were being a right pain in Niall’s ass, mate.”

“And what if—what if I wouldn’t have been able to stop?” Liam asks, because it’s a thought he thinks about sometimes, not being able to stop drinking from Zayn, that one day he’ll be desperate enough to take every last drop of Zayn’s blood and leave his body cold and lifeless.

“You did, though. You’re being unnecessarily broody about this.” Louis moves to stand up, just as there’s a knock at the door.

Liam’s eyes find the front door, staring at it like if he tries hard enough he just might be able to see through it.

“Were you expecting anyone?” Louis asks, all humor gone from the frame of his face. Liam shakes his head. Louis shoves the empty blood bags back into the bag while Liam strips off his shirt as he crosses the room, ridding himself of any bloody evidence.

When he opens the door, a familiar set of glittering brown eyes widen and rake down the expanse of his chest. Zayn’s eyes look up to find Liam’s and Liam smiles tentatively while Zayn shuffles a bit on his doorstep. “What are you doing here?”  

Zayn shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, right? So, I called Niall and asked where I could find you, and here I am.”

Liam blinks. “You _called_ Niall?”

Nodding, Zayn shrugs his shoulders again. “He gave me his number. Said if I ever needed anything I could call him.”

Liam opens the door wide enough to let Zayn through. Liam grins. “Does that mean you _needed_ to see me?”

When Zayn turns to look at him, he smiles, just enough that his tongue presses against the back of teeth and his nose crinkles up. “I’m curious about you, Liam.”

Liam’s eyes catch Zayn’s and for a handful of seconds, they just look at each other, until Louis comes in with his boisterous voice.

“Well, then, I’ll leave you two to it, and be on my way. Not my place to step in between the sexual tension that’s about to—“

“Goodbye, Louis,” Liam says, looking towards the door pointedly.

Zayn laughs, and Louis rolls his eyes. “Nice to see you again, mate,” Louis says to Zayn, and then he’s gone, and it’s just Liam and Zayn and Liam doesn’t quite know what to do.

“This place is huge,” Zayn marvels, looking around.

“It’s home,” Liam says. “For now at least.”

Zayn looks over at Liam, comes up next to him as they walk through the house. Zayn tangles his fingers with Liam’s.

“Are you leaving?” Zayn asks, his voice colored with nonchalance, covering up the tinge of disappointment Liam hears.

Liam shakes his head. “No, no. Just—every handful of years or so, I have to go. People start getting suspicious when you don’t age.”

“I suppose that’s a good thing, looking the way you do, though, maybe—I think you’d be handsome, if you were to get older.”

Liam doesn’t say anything, but feels good at the prospect of Zayn thinking about it, what Liam would be like when he’s older, that Zayn would still be around. 

Zayn looks fascinated, and Liam enjoys watching him. There isn’t anything in the house that’s exceptionally telling about his life style; there aren’t blood stains or dead bodies. It’s a normal house, albeit with eccentric knick-knacks spread over bookshelves and end tables, dated art work and lighting fixtures.

Liam grabs a bottle of wine from the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”

“Sure,” Zayn says, standing by the fridge, eyes on Liam; Liam can feel the weight of Zayn’s eyes on him, and it feels good.  

“Can you tell me more stuff? Like about you and being what you are?” Zayn asks. He sits up on the counter, watching as Liam fixes up a sandwich.

“What do you want to know?” Liam hands Zayn a plate, and busies himself with the wine, pouring himself a glass, and then Zayn as an afterthought. He checks the time on his watch, mentally shrugs at the fact that it’s so early.

“I don’t know. Just stuff.”

Liam smiles, leaning back against the counter.

“Who’s Niall? And the other one? With brown hair? Louis? Are they vampires too?”

Liam shakes his head, downs his glass before refilling it. “Niall is, yes. He’s my—he’s the one that made me. And Louis is a brat with a superiority complex.”

Zayn grins, eating his food. When he swallows, he drinks from his glass and then, “So he’s like me?”

Liam raises an eyebrow. “I’m hoping you mean human, because Louis isn’t anything like you other than that one common factor.”

Zayn laughs, a picture of adorable, sitting on his countertop like this is normal. God, Liam would do anything for it to be like this all the time, Zayn’s laughter ringing out through the manor like he belongs. “Yeah, I mean human. How does he know about you guys? Do you guys have, like, human groupies or something? People you drink from and stuff?”

Liam sets down his glass. “No. Well.” Liam sighs. “Some vampires do. Some keep humans around, like pets, I suppose. But most vampires just go out, get what they need, and go home.”

Zayn’s quiet for a moment, finishes eating and Liam drinks another glass, trying not to think about how he just wants to taste Zayn again. The alcohol is enough, it’s enough. He’s weak, but he’s fine.

“So why does Louis get to stick around then?” Zayn asks. “Can—“

“Can you?” Liam cuts through, and Zayn’s eyes are wide, glittering, when Liam’s movements are sudden enough to startle Zayn, as Liam moves over to him, quicker than his eyes can detect. He’s standing in front of Zayn in a fraction of a second.

Zayn looks mesmerized, amazed, and Liam grins. “Is that what you want, Zayn? You’ve known about this for _five minutes_ and this is what you want? To—“

Zayn sighs, nodding his head. “ _Yes_ ,” he says. “Yeah, I want that. Liam do you have _any_ idea what it feels like to have your mouth on me? It’s hard to be scared knowing that you can do that to me, that _I_ can keep you alive. It’s like, it’s … exciting, kind of. Like—“

Liam curls his arm around Zayn’s waist, easy when he’s standing between Zayn’s legs, and pulls him close so their bodies are flush together. “Like what, love?”

“I like it when you call me that,” Zayn says, a little bit breathless.

Liam doesn’t say anything, just leans forward, thriving on the way Zayn tips his head back, like he’s used to this. Liam just presses a kiss to the scruff of Zayn’s neck. “You’re quite lovely,” Liam says, relishing in the way Zayn’s heart races, the way his breath comes in quick, short bursts.

Zayn hums, runs his fingers through Liam’s hair, keeping him close. “Like this, right? You being this close—kinda scary, but mostly it just—it’s like. It turns me on.”

Liam pulls back, just enough so he leans to fit his mouth against Zayn’s, kiss him with everything he has because he’s been waiting for this, has been keeping this moment from happening and now that he has it, he doesn’t want to let it go, doesn’t want to move from the space between Zayn’s legs, doesn’t want to give up the taste of Zayn’s mouth, not when it’s sweet from wine, when it makes the nicest sounds when he sighs out a moan against Liam’s lips.

“Come on. I’d like to show you something,” Liam murmurs, brushing his nose against Zayn’s as he leans their foreheads together. Zayn nods, seemingly dazed, and Liam smirks to himself, enjoying the effect he has on Zayn.

Zayn drinks from his glass of wine and Liam tangles their fingers together, helps Zayn off the counter and leads him through the halls of the manor, pushing open the door to the book room, Liam’s favorite room. The sun shines and it’s all too reminiscent of a certain Disney movie, but Liam thinks, for all the love Zayn has for books, Zayn would appreciate this the most.

The fireplace still crackles and Zayn sets down his glass on the table next to the armchair in the corner and lets go of Liam’s hand in favor of walking over to the many towering bookcases, stuffed with novels Liam’s spent years not reading; Zayn however, finds first editions of his favorites, leather bound poetry books and novels signed by the authors that wrote them.

Liam finds a shirt lying around, pulls it on and buttons it up, sits in the armchair; the fire is lit, crackling over thick branches of wood. Zayn looks soft in this light, as soft as Liam knows him to be, gentle with his oversized sweater and worn blue jeans. His hair is flat, falling over his forehead. There’s a necklace that hangs down over Zayn’s sternum, a solitary ring that moves against Zayn’s chest anytime he walks from one side of the bookcase to the other.

“People are always thinking about what they’d do if they had the time like you do,” Zayn says, his voice thick, but gentle. Liam tips his glass back, sipping, watching Zayn from where he sits. “’S funny, yeah? Like, I don’t know what I’d do if I lived that many lifetimes.” Zayn pushes a book back into its place. His face is soft and pensive; Liam wonders what he’s thinking, but won’t use his ability to coerce Zayn to telling him. “Don’t you get tired? Does being alive this long satisfy you?”

And Liam thinks about his answer to Zayn’s question; is he satisfied? No. And he won’t ever be when the burn in his throat grows stronger with each day he wakes up, when there’s a thrumming buzz inside of his skin that won’t let him forget what he is. There’s nothing that could satiate that, that could calm him; he can’t live contentedly like Zayn does, like he used to so long ago.

“Nothing satisfies, Zayn. Nothing satiates. There’s always going to be something I want more of. There isn’t a chance to live without worry or a moment to pause. Yes, I have time, an immense abundance of time—but that isn’t going to satisfy me.”

There’s a look on Zayn’s face where his eyes flash dark and dance with a dangerous kind of light. His body language changes, and from where Liam sits, watching him, Liam can hear the way Zayn’s heartbeat thunders in his chest.

“Nothing at all satisfies you?”

Liam drains his glass while keeping his eyes on Zayn. Licking his lips, he beckons Zayn over with a nod of his head. Liam doesn’t know if Zayn is hesitant, but it shows in the slow steps of Zayn’s feet, until he reaches where Liam is sitting. Liam holds out a hand and Zayn takes it, allowing Liam to uses his gentle strength to pull Zayn down until he sits comfortably on Liam’s lap with either of Zayn’s knees encasing his hips. Liam looks at Zayn with intense eyes; he traces Zayn’s features with the sharpness of his vision, until he reaches a hand to Zayn’s face and uses his fingertips to touch over Zayn’s cheek. He’s sweet, smells delicious, and looks amazing in the dim glow of the fire burning brightly just off to their side.

Liam tips Zayn’s head back, just enough so Liam can lean forward and brush the tip of his nose over Zayn’s neck, where his skin is soft and flawless, where Liam can feel his pulse spike exponentially. Zayn’s breath hitches when Liam presses a kiss where Zayn’s heartbeat thumps wildly.

“You’re the one exception, love. Everything about you satisfies me,” Liam says casually, pulling back to see Zayn seemingly in the middle of bliss with his eyes closed.

“Bet you use that line on all of the boys, don’t you?” Zayn says, even though there’s a tremor in his hands when he winds them over Liam’s shoulders, draping his arms around Liam’s neck to pull him in close. Liam laughs, grinning, a sort of bubbly feeling vibrating under his skin; it’s resonant, beautiful, the kind of emotion that makes him feel alive.

“Yep,” Liam teases, “and it gets them every time, just like it gets you.” Liam settles his hands on Zayn’s hips, sliding them down over Zayn’s thighs and then back up.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Zayn says, but he leans forward, gives a kiss just to the corner of Liam’s lips. Liam doesn’t let him get too far before he’s kissing him again, deeper this time. Zayn threads his fingers through Liam’s hair, keeps him close as they kiss, nip each other’s lips. Liam takes his time with his hands, touches all the parts he can reach of Zayn, reaches underneath his shirt to press his fingers over Zayn’s nipples, listens as the man hisses from the contact, listens to the way Zayn’s heartbeat seems to stay put in his chest, drumming fast. Liam drags his fingers down, tracing the circle of Zayn’s navel, moving his mouth down the slope of Zayn’s throat to latch on to the crook of his neck, right where his scent is concentrated, the purest, so lovely; Liam can’t help but slide both of his hands to Zayn’s ass to pull him closer. The hardness he feels in Zayn’s jeans doesn’t surprise him, Liam feels it, too.

“ _Liam_ ,” Zayn moans softly, and Liam’s hard up for it, the way Zayn wholly gives himself over, like all he wants is to please Liam; it makes Liam feel that power again, the soft thrumming the buzzing underneath his skin, simmering in his flesh. It’s beautiful.

Zayn tips his head back, baring his throat, and Liam can feel his mouth water from it, the way his gums ache and the tension builds behind his navel, thick and glorious.

“I want it, Liam,” Zayn says into the quiet of the room. “I want you to.”

There isn’t any pause, and chance for Liam to question it, because he wants it just as bad. So he kisses the slope of Zayn’s throat, lets his tongue peek out to lick along a strained tendon, presses his lips to where Zayn’s pulse is strong and reckless. Liam can smell him, the blood just below the surface of his skin and he wants it so bad; he doesn’t give a warning before he allows his teeth to sharpen and bite down into Zayn’s skin, right underneath the sharp line of his jaw. Zayn’s hips cant forward, rubbing his dick against Liam’s hard stomach while Liam sucks from his neck, the steady trickle of blood almost as good as the friction of Zayn’s ass over his cock.

It’d be so easy to undress each other, but right now, with Zayn’s fingers threading through his hair and Liam’s teeth in Zayn’s throat, the desperation of it all wins over the need for bare skin. It’s like a secret almost, finding snippets of flesh underneath his fingers when he raises Zayn’s shirt, pressing the palm of his hand to the small of Zayn’s back to keep him close, to slow the needy rocking of Zayn’s hips. It’s the sound of Zayn’s voice, completely wrecked, but so beautiful, vibrating under Liam’s lips.

Liam pulls away, knows his teeth are stained red and the blood is dripping from the corners of his mouth, he knows how he looks when he pulls back from Zayn to lean back against the arm chair. It doesn’t seem to bother Zayn, not now, maybe it won’t at all, not with the way Zayn’s eyes turn dark, the way his body rolls into Liam’s as he uses Liam to get himself off. It’s a sight, the fluid way Zayn’s body moves, the quick push and pull of his hips, the sexy quirk of his mouth, the way he tugs at the buttons of Liam’s shirt to get them open. Liam just sits back and lets Zayn do whatever he wants, tear his shirt so it shows off his chest, so Zayn can lean forward and trace his tongue over cool flesh, moan when Liam’s hands squeeze his ass and coerce Zayn to quicken his pace. It’s good, so good, watching Zayn be so sexually unabashed when he’s usually so quiet and reserved, so sweet.

“I want you, I want you so bad, Liam,” Zayn groans out, hands on Liam’s chest, fingers digging into flesh. “You have no idea what this does to me, how it makes me feel, do you?” Zayn whimpers, shudders when Liam’s fingers undo the button of Zayn’s jeans, pull apart the flaps so Liam can get his hand around Zayn.

“I don’t,” Liam says, with an arrogant tone, wanting to tear Zayn apart, this soft, sweet man, just by having his mouth on his neck, his hand on his dick. “Why don’t you tell me, baby? Hmm? Can you tell me how I make you feel, love?”

Zayn looks like he’s trying to collect himself, get his thoughts straight enough so he can tell Liam exactly what he thinks and the air is thick with lust and sexual satisfaction, and each time Liam strokes over the head of Zayn’s cock, his breath hitches and it’s so, so fascinating.

“I …” Zayn starts, but Liam quickens his pace, reaches his auxiliary hand to press his thumb to Zayn’s bottom lip.

“Come on, Zayn, tell me.”

“Good, ‘s so good,” he starts, with a shaky breath. Zayn’s eyes are dark, his eyes fixed on Liam’s and it makes Liam simmer where he sits, and it’s not possible, but he feels like he can’t look away, not even if he wanted to, like _Zayn_ is the one with all the power. There’s something that makes that thought so sweet, hot, like Liam wants to be controlled by Zayn.

“It’s like, there’s just this feeling, when you bite me, and when you suck me, and when you touch me, I—I don’t know how to explain it,” Zayn whispers, voice raw and rough, like the way he sounds in the morning. It makes Liam shudder, makes his dick fill up, harden even more underneath the slight friction of Zayn’s ass. “It’s just the—it’s like it’s the only thing I ever want to feel. Just your hands on me, yeah? Your mouth on me, your _teeth_ , I want it, all the time, and even when we’re not touching, when we’re not here together, I want it. I’m always thinking about it, about you, ‘bout your hands and how they hold me, like—like right now. You’re fuckin’ tossing me off and all I can think about is your mouth, and you _tasting_ me, I—God, Liam, I fuckin’ love it, babe,” Zayn says, and it’s like it’s all he had to say, out of breath, closing his eyes and letting his head tip back again, releasing a sweet whimper that buzzes on Liam’s skin. Zayn pulls a hand from where it rests over Liam’s naked chest and taps his throat with his fingers. “Please, Liam. _Please_ I want--”

As soon as Liam reaches forward, bites his teeth against the base of Zayn’s throat, Zayn moans, drops Liam’s name like a chant as he comes over Liam’s fingers, hot, thick, and wet, slumping forward into Liam’s body as Liam strokes him through it, listens to him as he hisses, when Liam’s stroking becomes too much. Liam doesn’t pull his mouth away, not yet; he’s too into the taste of Zayn, the way he floods into Liam’s mouth, so willing. Liam adores the little whimpers, the softness of Zayn’s voice, gone tired and sleepy. Zayn’s heart works to slow, and it’s then that Liam detaches his mouth, laves over the puncture marks his teeth have left with the wet of his tongue, soothing the blemishes. Zayn breathes quietly, pressed against him like he doesn’t want to move. Liam doesn’t want him to anyway.

“This really gets you off, doesn’t it?” Liam whispers to him, nosing along the sharpness of his jaw, moving his hand from between their bodies to press against Zayn’s back. Zayn nods, and Liam can see his glowing smile.

“Dunno why, but … it’s—there’s literally something about it that I can’t explain. It’s just like, better. Better with you. Granted, I’ve never slept with a vampire before, and I don’t want you to go on and get a big head, but it’s just better than anyone I’ve ever fucked before.” Zayn seems unapologetic, knowingly stroking Liam’s ego. “And you’re still hard,” Zayn says, moving his hips in little circles over Liam’s lap; Liam’s hips jerk up in response. Liam moves in to kiss Zayn, but Zayn pulls away, shaking his head with a mischievous grin curling his lips.

“What’s this, then, love?”

Zayn slides off Liam’s body so he’s on his knees before him, hands on Liam’s stomach with a smile touching his lips that makes Zayn look so, so fond. “Let me take care of you, Liam.”

-

It’s been a handful of days, and quite honestly, Liam is content to spend the rest of eternity lying in bed watching Zayn smoke a cigarette, standing naked by the open window while it rains.

There’s a sated warmth that sits underneath Liam’s skin as he lays there, watching Zayn, blinking his eyes closed like sleep will take him. It doesn’t; he’s too keyed up even though every part of his spent body aches when he moves. Liam sits up and Zayn turns to look at him. He’s a mess, but it’s lovely; his hair is askew, marks all over his body made by Liam’s mouth and his teeth, he’s covered in sweat and come and there’s a smear of blood on his chest and—

Something possessive bubbles up inside of Liam. _Mine_.

He doesn’t quite know what to do with that feeling, the need to have Zayn right by his side, lying there, breathing softly as he sleeps, or humming dirty songs in the kitchen as he forces himself to make breakfast or lunch, or talking with that voice and that lilt of an accent that makes his words sound colorful. Liam doesn’t know what to do with that need.

So he doesn’t do anything.

Liam sits up, swings his legs over the edge of the bed to stand and walk over to Zayn. He stands behind Zayn’s body, curling an arm around Zayn’s waist to press the palm of his hand over the soft, flat planes of Zayn’s stomach.

“I’m exhausted, Liam,” Zayn says, stubbing out the cigarette and tossing it out of the window. Liam drops a kiss down to Zayn’s naked shoulder, feels him shiver. There are dots, healing puncture marks along Zayn’s shoulder, where Liam became so desperate he couldn’t control himself; there’s a feeling that comes with that, too, with knowing that Zayn knows what he is, that Zayn is okay with it by his own will and not because Liam’s compelled him not to scream. Liam feels good with this human. And he doesn’t quite know why.

“I’m sure you are, love,” Liam murmurs. “Come on. I’ll draw you a bath and call for dinner. And then, you can get your butt into bed and actually get some sleep.”

Zayn vibrates with laughter. “Yeah, yeah. You didn’t mind it much when I—“

“Like I would ever mind anything you do that involves your mouth,” Liam cuts in, grinning against Zayn’s skin. He smells like sex and sunshine and peppermint and cigarette smoke and if happiness could have a scent, Liam knows he’d smell it on Zayn’s flesh.

Zayn hums, shaking his head. “I am quite talented,” Zayn teases, turning around in Liam’s hold to press himself against Liam’s front and catch his mouth.

Kissing Zayn is unlike anything; it quiets everything around them, like nothing else exists when Liam’s tongue is familiar with the slick of Zayn’s own tongue and the ridges of his teeth. It’s hard to believe there’s anything else that exists when Zayn is breathing the air right from Liam’s lungs. It’s amazing, euphoric in best way, indescribable and unexplainable; he’d learn a hundred languages if it meant being able to describe the way Zayn makes him feel.

Liam pulls back, just enough so Zayn can bring him back for a few chaste presses of his lips to Liam’s.

Zayn grins. “You taste like my come.”

Liam chuckles, swats his hand against Zayn’s ass and Zayn jumps in his arms, crying out with laughter. “That mouth,” Liam says, shaking his head. He reaches down Zayn’s body to press his hands to the backs of Zayn’s thighs and lift him up, carrying him to the bathroom—where he shows off just a little bit with all the vampire strength and speed—and sets Zayn down on the counter as Liam busies himself running the water warm enough for Zayn.

“My mum would love a house like this,” Zayn murmurs from behind Liam. Liam turns around, gives Zayn his attention; Zayn looks pensive, like he’s locked inside of his head.

“Yeah?” Liam entertains, because he wants to know everything about Zayn, doesn’t he? Always wanting to learn.

“Yeah, mate, like. The house is huge, and we have a really big family. Lots of aunts and uncles and cousins and family friends, you know? It’d give her the space she’d like for holidays and parties and—“ Zayn breaks off to laugh “—its big enough that she can keep us all in our own rooms instead of fighting with each other.”

Liam tugs on Zayn’s hand and Zayn comes willingly, stepping inside of tub. He sits back, head resting against the lip of the tub; Liam notices that Zayn’s toes stick out over the edge on the other side.

It’s quiet for a moment with Liam’s eyes closed as he leans against the wall of the porcelain bathtub, Zayn’s arm hanging over the edge so his hand can press against his chest. It’s so easy to be here with Zayn like this, in the quiet, with Zayn’s heartbeat sounding off softly, like a little bit of background noise.

“I know she’d love you,” Zayn murmurs. “I know she would, because—because I like you.”

Liam smiles, turns his head to look over at Zayn. “You like me?”

Zayn huffs out a laugh and splashes Liam with water. “Not anymore, I don’t.”

Liam laughs, shaking his head. If he thinks about it hard enough, maybe he can freeze time, be like this until it starts getting old, until Liam is used to the feeling that reminds him of the excitement of being alive.  

“Well, quite honestly,” Liam says, “I like you, too.”

“Come in here with me,” Zayn says. “It’s not as fun being naked in a bath if I’m all by myself.”

He can’t help but laugh is the thing, so he does and it makes Zayn laugh too, even as he’s climbing into the bathtub, sitting between Zayn’s knees and pressing his back to Zayn’s chest. Zayn curls his arms around Liam’s shoulders, pressing his fingers against Liam’s stomach and then raising one hand to rest just over Liam’s heart.

“I don’t feel your heart beating,” Zayn murmurs.

“Because it doesn’t.”

“Does it bother you? That it doesn’t?” Zayn whispers, lips right against Liam’s ear.

Looking up at the ceiling of the bathroom, Liam wonders. It’s never bothered him before, the physical aspect of it, at least. “I don’t think so. I’ve never really thought about it. I can hear yours, though, anytime you’re near me, and that’s enough for me.”

Zayn kisses against the nape of Liam’s neck, chuckling a bit. Liam turns his head back to look at Zayn, and Zayn is smiling, in that fond way Liam is trying to get used to, but it’s just too spectacular.

“You’re a big sap, you know that? You act like you’re a monster, but really, you’ve got a big soft heart,” Zayn says, blinking his eyes a few times, and then pressing his mouth against Liam’s cheek.

Liam doesn’t protest, doesn’t reject Zayn’s statement. He just leans back and kisses the scruff of Zayn’s jaw, listens to the way Zayn’s heart thunders like a haywire metronome.

-

With all the bad things, there comes good. Liam should now this considering he’s encountered all kinds of horrible things during his existence. Being with Zayn, being with him when it’s quiet, when it’s just shared breaths when they kiss, hands touching when they lie close together, when it’s flesh touching and Liam’s teeth lodged in Zayn’s throat—it’s almost its own perfect world, just the two of them. And Liam—well, there’s a feeling that blossoms inside of him, like it’s flushing out the poison, an anecdote of sorts, curing him. It’s crazy to think that way but Zayn, with his big brown eyes and his pretty lips and the color of his skin and the lithe, lean stature of his body just grounds Zayn, and the way he thinks, the thoughts in his mind, the way he talks and how he hums—it makes a home in Liam’s unbeating heart, floods warmth throughout his body and he feels good. He feels alive, and isn’t that all he’s wanted? To be capable of feeling the deepest emotions, the kind of emotions he thought he couldn’t feel?

-

The art building at the university is quiet; it’s to be expected when the sun has yet to rise, has yet to bloom in the sky. The forecast calls for rain, but London is still sleepy; all except for Zayn. Zayn who stays up at all hours of the night dedicated to his art, working hard and concentrated. Liam’s seen the things Zayn can do with a paint brush; it’s fantastic, simply put. Zayn’s artistic ability is otherworldly; a talent that Liam knows will give Zayn everything he’s ever wanted. He’s so talented and it’s rather sexy observing Zayn with a brush in his hand, eyebrows furrowed as his hands sweep lines and shapes over the softness of paper.

When he finds Zayn, it’s in the quiet of a large room, filled with easels and art supplies scattered and stocked everywhere around the room. Zayn is the only person in the room, standing in front of a large canvas the size of a wall. It’s covered in an array of colors, spread out over the expanse of the once white canvas, illuminous and vibrant; Liam thinks this very piece of work could describe Zayn, how lovely and interesting he is to look at, to listen to, to watch when he’s in the middle of doing something he loves.

Liam must make some sort of noise; Zayn’s head whips over to look at him so fast Liam’s surprised he didn’t hear bones breaking. A smile spreads over Zayn’s lips, and his eyes shine with exhaustion, and his frame wilts, like he’s relaxing. “What are you doing here?”

Liam shrugs, moving into the room further and closing the door behind him, so he can embrace Zayn, bring his body against his own chest. Zayn sighs and his arms wind around Liam’s waist. “I wanted to see you. Selfish reasons, really,” Liam responds.

There’s the vibration of Zayn’s laughter that Liam feels rock against him. “I’m so tired, Liam,” Zayn murmurs. “Do you like it?”

Liam pulls back, turns his vision to the work of art he sees. He does like it. Loves it, even, thinks it would look wonderful, wondrous in one of the rooms of the manor. All the colors and brightness and vibrancy; it’s breathtaking in the loveliest way.

“I do. You’ve been working all night?”

Zayn nods against his chest. “I’m so tired, and I’m starving and I really want to shower and sleep for four days straight, to be quite honest.” His voice is hoarse, like he’s been smoking too much, like he’s just woken up, and when Liam looks down, he can see Zayn’s eyes closed, eyelashes fanning across the very tops of his cheeks. He’s beautiful, is all Liam thinks, is all his brain can come up with. It isn’t enough to describe how Zayn looks now in his arms, the picture of home. Sweet and saccharine, lovely and luminescent with his quiet star shine seeping from his flesh, the way his heartbeat is steady, calm. Liam could stand here forever, holding Zayn like this, surrounded by the strong scent of paint and the warmth of brilliant ideas in the form of half-finished art.

“I can take you home, if you’d like,” Liam whispers. Zayn nods, rescinding his body the slightest bit, just enough to look up at Liam.

“Can we go to yours?” Zayn grins and his eyes are like wildfire and his smile is electric and it sets the fire aflame in Liam’s throat, the ache in his gums almost unbearable. Liam leans forward, presses a neat kiss against the column of Zayn’s throat and Zayn tips his head back, so sweet, so good for Liam. It’s hard not to just bite down, to take what he wants, but he can hear Zayn’s heart racing into overdrive, like he’s nervous or anxious or—Liam presses his mouth just underneath the corner of Zayn’s jaw and Zayn sounds off the sweetest moan.

“We can do whatever you want, love,” Liam answers. Zayn’s body is vibrating, shaking, almost trembling.

“Liam, we can’t—not here,” Zayn murmurs, but his fingers betray the chastising tone of his voice as they card through Liam’s hair, keeping him close.

“Can’t what?” Liam asks, his hand on the small of Zayn’s back, pressing him close as he continues to mouth along the flawless skin of Zayn’s neck. His pulse is quick, and it only quickens when Liam nips right at the base of his throat. Underneath the greediness of Liam’s lips, he can feel the rumble of Zayn’s groaning, and instead of pulling back like he knows he should, he lets his teeth sharpen and press down into Zayn’s skin, listens to the broken moans that drip from Zayn’s mouth, sweet like honeydew.

There’s a current, a rush, the loveliest feeling that rushes through Liam; Zayn’s fingers tighten in Liam’s hair and Zayn’s voice is unabashed as his moaning gets louder. Easing his teeth from Zayn’s skin, Liam picks Zayn up in his arms, sets him down on the nearest surface; a desk, which Liam clears off with the disruptive force of his hands, without a care in the world for the belongings of another. Right now, the entirety of his attention is on Zayn, the way Zayn leans back on the palms of his hands, looking up at Liam with dark eyes and lips so pink, a tiny trickle of blood running down the jutting bone of his collar, soaking the soft fabric of his navy sweater.

“Come here,” Zayn says, and Liam listens, ducking his head again, instead of catching Zayn’s mouth in a biting kiss, he uses his tongue to lap up the spilled blood and sink his teeth back into Zayn’s skin.

-

At home, Zayn makes himself comfortable; he’s had something to eat, and a bath, and looks very comfortable swimming in the fabric of Liam’s clothes. Liam observes Zayn as he comes into the bedroom; Zayn is sitting crossed legged in the middle of the bed surrounded by blankets and pillows. There’s a book that lays open and Zayn looks engrossed in the text, with a cigarette chilling between his middle and index finger. Liam almost doesn’t want to disturb him, would like to just let him be, the picture of comfort and contentment. But Liam is selfish.

“All set?” Liam asks, coming into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. Zayn looks up with a smile.

“Yeah, I am. Ready for bed even though it’s ten in the morning,” Zayn says. He takes a drag from his cigarette, stretching his body on the exhale, humming like a contented cat. Liam lays back, pushing Zayn’s book out of the way to demand Zayn’s attention. Liam lays his head on Zayn’s lap closing his eyes and feels Zayn run his fingers through Liam’s hair. “Will you tell me about your family?”

Zayn’s voice is a gentle inquiry, and Liam loos up at him, face upside down, smiling softly. “What would you like to know?”

Zayn shrugs his shoulders, looking around the room. “Are they like you?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Liam smiles. “It’s okay, love. It’s been hundreds of years. If anything, they’re a great memory. I loved them dearly.” And he did, really. There was something about his family that he had a hard time losing. Even as Niall changed him, kept him alive, it was hardest to leave his family, and even after all this time, there’s a part of him that wishes all of this would have never happened, that he would have died when it was his time.

“Did you have any siblings?” Zayn wonders. His fingers are gentle as they card through Liam’s hair, and the smell of smoke is comforting when it’s combined with the soft scent of Zayn’s skin.

“Two. Ruth and Nicola. Lovely girls, really. They teased me lots because it made me laugh. I was sick as a child, so they tried to make the most of it. Mum would do lots for me, too. Read to me from books and told me all kinds of stories. My father—I think he took it the hardest, me being sick. He had a son, but I was—I wasn’t what he was expecting. Just bedridden mostly. Mum cried lots—all of us were fairly close.” Liam sighs. “It was a completely different time.”

Zayn’s lips press against Liam’s forehead, and Liam smiles. “Well. I’m glad you’re here. With me,” Zayn says. “That must sound ridiculously selfish, considering I would do anything for my family. Would miss them if I had to go away.”

Liam looks up at Zayn. “Do they live close by?”

Zayn shrugs. “A few hours or so away. I make it a point to see them as often as I can, but an art student’s budget isn’t the greatest, is it?”

“And your siblings?” Liam asks.

Zayn smiles now, like the questions lit him up from the inside. “Three sisters, and they’re all a pain in my ass. I love them though, more than anything in the world. Doniya, she’s the oldest, and she acts like it. And Waliyah—she’s younger than I am, a classic middle child, really. I think I may have been a bit spoiled by my parents since I’m their only son, like. And then Safaa. She’s like—she’s so great. Super smart and so kind and she can be a bit cheeky at times, but she’s absolutely amazing.”

Liam finds that Zayn talking about his family is one of the greatest things, how lost he gets inside the love he has for them. Liam doesn’t mention that he’s met Safaa before, the embodiment of sunshine and light, sweet and gentle in nature, much like her older brother.

“She’s coming soon. She spends some weekends with me when my parents can send her up. She’s brave, riding the train up here alone. You could—if you wanted, you could meet her,” Zayn offers with glittering eyes and a soft smile.

“I’d love that, Zayn, I would. You could bring her here. We’ll make it an entire weekend of it. We can use the den—I know there’s millions of pillows and blankets all around, and probably just as many movies. We’ll have a picnic outside if the weather is nice, attempt to bake for her. Maybe we could—“

Zayn cuts Liam off with a kiss, lingering and gentle, just a kiss in the simplest form, with the softness of Zayn’s lips against his own, the taste of tobacco on his tongue. “That sounds lovely, Liam. You know I don’t expect anything, right?”

Liam blinks up at Zayn. “It’s not that you expect it, Zayn. It’s that there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make you happy.”

Zayn smiles, then, kissing Liam again, and this time, neither off them pull back, and Liam gets lost in Zayn, like he always does, until Zayn is murmuring sleepy against his lips, tucking himself into the side of Liam’s ribs until he’s fast asleep, and Liam is left wondering how he could be so lucky with a human like this.

-

It isn’t this particular scene that Liam hates; he’s always loved the atmosphere of a party, but right now, Liam doesn’t care for clumsy college-aged party goers. Granted, his … _Zayn_ was at the party, along with his friend Harry, but Liam would rather be in the manor, with Zayn in the book room, kissing on the armchair where Liam has easy access to the slope of Zayn’s throat and the lovely touch of his fingertips, and—

Well, Liam’s hungry. Being with Zayn has waned his lust for any other human; quite simply, he doesn’t want anyone the way he wants Zayn, not their bodies or their blood. It’s intense, the kind of hunger he feels with Zayn, but right now, as irritated as he is, he figures he’s allowed a little bit of a snack.

Liam catches sight of Zayn, out on the porch where Harry stands to his side. Zayn puts a cigarette up to his lips and when he exhales, he tips his head back and the smoke billows from his pursed lips and Zayn looks, for the most part, a bit blissed. It’s quite the sight, one Liam shouldn’t love so much, but Zayn must not know how lovely he looks on any given day; it’s killing Liam. 

Making his way through the crowd, he takes his eyes off of Zayn, just enough to survey the crowd for a quick target, someone easy enough to feed from and then get back to the party.

It’s easy, too easy; Liam’s always liked a bit of banter, a bit of chase, but she all but comes up to him, asking him for a dance, and he can’t turn down a pretty girl, can he?

The thought of Zayn not approving weighs Liam down, but not enough to stop him from going after the girl. They dance, just for a song or two, before Liam’s quick to lean forward, press his face against her neck and laugh slightly before he pulls a, “Do you want to go somewhere a little quieter?”

“Yes,” falls from her candy cotton pink lips before he’s even done speaking, and she looks at him with wide brown eyes. She reaches out her hand and Liam lets her pull her along. Looking around the room, he sees Zayn outside with Harry, laughing even like he’s having a great time.

The girl opens a door, pushes Liam inside of the room and closes the door behind her.

“Oh, yeah, this is much better,” she says, giggling. In the dark, Liam can see her searching for the light switch, which he reaches over her shoulder to flip so the room illuminates in yellow light. “So, did you want to talk or…?”

She smiles at him, sweet, like she knows they didn’t come here to talk at all. Her dark hair is pulled back, and there’s one curly lock that falls right over her collarbone, and Liam shouldn’t be this mesmerized, but he is.

Liam shakes his head in response, takes his vision from her throat to meet her eyes. “Talking? Really?”

She giggles. “Well, that’s one thing we’d be doing in the quiet…”

Liam’s played this game a million times, and somehow, it just doesn’t get old. “Oh yeah?” Liam counters, grinning widely. He steps forward to back her up against the wall just by the door. “What are some other things we could be doing?”  

“If you come a little bit closer, you might just find out,” she murmurs, switching her eyes from staring at Liam’s mouth to his own eyes. Liam catches her vision, holds her gaze so he can compel her.

“Don’t scream,” Liam says, and he lets his teeth sharpen and elongate and he can see the fear in her eyes, but she doesn’t scream, doesn’t fight him, even though he knows she wants to. It’s obvious in the ticking of her heartbeat, relentlessly fast in her chest.

Liam leans in, tips her head to the side, bites down over where her pulse is beating just underneath her skin. She squeaks, hands gripping his shoulders as he drinks from here and then—she sighs, and it’s like clockwork, the way her body responds to Liam’s mouth on her, taking from her, the way her body wants so much more than he can give her.

He’s just so thirsty, and the burn in his throat subsides as he feeds; it’s not as sweet as the taste of Zayn, but it’ll do, just enough to keep him from falling off the deep end.

Just as he’s finishing up, the door opens and both Harry and Zayn come tumbling in, mid laughter, and Liam rips his mouth from the nameless girl’s neck, steps back just enough to hide his mouth behind his hand, wiping off the blood he knows is staining his lips. Liam’s sure Harry didn’t see anything, just quietly surveys the tension in the room before walking right back out.

“Liam?” Zayn’s voice comes, and it’s soft, like he doesn’t understand. Confusion wears his mouth into a frown and his eyebrows bunch over the dark look of his eyes.

Liam sighs, turns back to the girl and compels her to forget everything after leaving the dance floor. All she’ll remember is getting lost looking for the bathroom. Her neck still shows the puncture marks of his teeth, but it isn’t terribly obvious when he tells her to wear her hair down. She leaves the room without looking back, and Zayn is standing there, concern glittering in his eyes like flashing highway signs. Zayn closes the door, turning the lock on the knob.

“What were you doing with her?” Zayn asks, and he doesn’t look soft anymore, not like he always does; there’s anger in the line of his lips, in his furrowed brows. Liam can’t deny he has a right to be angry.

“I was hungry,” Liam answers, shrugging his shoulders. As eloquent as ever, he is.

Zayn squints his eyes. “You were hungry? And you thought, because it was _such_ a bright idea, to go find some random girl?” he says, and he doesn’t look amused, not in the least bit.

Liam raises an eyebrow, tries not to find amusement at Zayn’s display of jealousy. “Yes, Zayn. That’s what I do. I—“

Zayn holds up a hand, looks at Liam right in the eyes. “You just don’t get it, do you?” Zayn shakes his head. “Look, mate, you’ve been doing this for a long time, but you can’t be serious and tell me how lovely I am, and how I _satisfy_ you if you’re just going to get it from somewhere else!”

Liam frowns and it only pushes Zayn to get angrier. Zayn’s heart beats wildly in his chest, and Liam reaches forward for Zayn, but Zayn pushes him away.

“Zayn, love, it’s just a bit of spilt blood. I wasn’t going to fuck her,” Liam tries to reason.

“I just—I don’t want you doing that with other people, Liam,” Zayn murmurs, crossing his arms over his chest. He stands defiantly, but Liam can hear the shakiness in his voice. The anger may be dissipating, but it’s reasoned; it’s so easy to forget how badly humans crave monogamy. “I don’t want you touching them the way you touch me, and that means biting them, too. Not just sex.”

Liam reaches out for Zayn this time, and Zayn doesn’t fight him off; Zayn curls his arms around Liam’s neck and Liam holds his close, pressing his hands on the small of his back. Zayn smells soft, like smoke and fresh laundry and peppermint, and it’s comforting, something Liam hadn’t even understood that he craved, just the small warmth of Zayn’s frame against his own. And he craves it all the time.

Zayn sighs against Liam’s collar; his heart is still racing. “There’s … something that happens when you bite me, Liam. It’s like—god, it’s like all I think about, and I can’t get enough of it. It feels good, even when we’re not fucking, like. It’s just something good when you’re—when you’re with me like that, like. I don’t want other people to get that feeling, too. I don’t—“

“Shh,” Liam says, “it’s alright. I guess, I misunderstood what exactly we were doing.”

Zayn pulls back to look up at Liam, lips downturned. “What did you think we were doing?”

Liam shrugs. “I don’t know, Zayn. I didn’t think I’d be playing boyfriend to a human after being alive for three hundred years.”

“ _Playing_? You think we’re _playing_? Because I thought this was a little more serious than _playing_ , Liam.” Zayn rips himself from Liam’s arms, going over to sit on the edge of the bed. And Liam’s annoyed because he keeps saying the wrong thing, and—

“Zayn, that’s not what I meant.”

Zayn looks at him, tired eyes glowing dark. “Then what did you mean?”

Liam shrugs again, but goes and crosses the bedroom to sit next to Zayn. “I don’t know, Zayn. It’s just—it’s not like a normal relationship. We’re anything but normal.”

“I don’t want normal, Liam. I never asked for normal.”

Liam sighs. “You didn’t ask for anything else, Zayn. You can’t hold me accountable for overstepping boundaries I didn’t know existed—“

“Well, Liam, it should be common sense that you don’t go sucking on some girl’s throat when you’ve _got_ someone. You could have come to me, and I would have let you. You _know_ I would’ve.”

Liam stays silent, because it’s true. because he could have walked up to where Zayn was stood with Harry, wrapped his arms around Zayn’s waist and whispered into his ear how badly he wanted Zayn then. But—

“I didn’t want—I don’t know, Zayn. I don’t know what I was doing, and I can’t make up an excuse for you.”

Zayn looks away from Liam, down to his shoes. “I don’t want excuses, Liam. I just want you. I don’t want you going around with other people and then coming back to me. Just—just tell me, okay? I don’t care what it is—sex, blood, fuck, I don’t care if you want to cuddle. If you want anything from me, all you have to do is ask.” Zayn looks up then, still frowning, eyes wide like he’s pleading. “You know I’d give you whatever you wanted.”

“Alright,” Liam answers, reaching for Zayn’s hand and pressing his lips to the warmth of Zayn’s knuckles. Zayn’s heart races. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think this would hurt you.”

Zayn purses his lips. “I really didn’t like seeing you like that with her.”

Liam nods. “It won’t happen again, I swear.”

“Good,” Zayn says. “Now, let’s go find Harry and let him know he doesn’t have to hate you.” He offers Liam a soft smile which Liam returns too easily and just like that, everything is well.

But even as they weave through the crowd of humans, holding each other’s hands, Liam knows there’s something wrong with this. Because even while Niall knows Zayn is important to him, there’s still the idea that Zayn is some sort of pet for Liam, just a food source for when he’s hungry. And human pets end up turned or dead, and that’s not what Liam wants for Zayn, it’s the last thing.

It’s his fault for not explaining, but there isn’t a way that Liam can survive off the timid drinks from Zayn’s veins. It’s just enough to keep him running, but there’s going to be a breaking point. There always is.

-

When they get to the manor, Zayn is mostly quiet, walking ahead of Liam and pushing the door open. Liam takes his time getting inside, and Zayn isn’t anywhere to be found. It would only take a few seconds to locate Zayn’s heartbeat and the scent of his skin, but he doesn’t, gives the space Zayn obviously wants. He hears the shower turn on, and Liam busies himself with a glass of wine.

His emotions are all over the place.

He likes this. This weird slightly domestic relationship between him and Zayn. He likes having the man around, with his soft skin and sweet smiles and the way his eyes never stop glittering or the sound of his laugh and the thunderous bass of his heart beating. He likes it so much he knows he can’t give it up, even though there are warning bells everywhere that are telling him this is _wrong_. But Liam’s content to ignore it for the meantime, because he’s _enjoying_ it and he doesn’t want a period in his lifetime where Zayn doesn’t exist. Not yet.

Soft humming breaks through his reverie; Liam takes a drink from his glass and sets it on the counter, watches as Zayn comes into the kitchen wearing nothing but a towel tied around his waist. His hair is flat over his forehead and he smells like soap and clean and there’s the beating of his heart, right underneath his skin, and he looks amazing, glorious, stunning, in just flesh and drops of water adorning his frame. He looks up at Liam, oh so tentatively, standing in the doorway.

“Come to bed with me,” Zayn says, his eyes dark and his lips pink and his skin is flushed so prettily; there’s that underlying scent of Zayn, just him, and it makes the burn in the middle of his throat grow, like wildfire. He drains his glass and sets it back down on the marble counter, doing as Zayn asks.

The trek up the stairs is quiet, but Zayn holds Liam’s hand the entire way up to Liam’s bedroom, where the bed is unmade and the air still smells like sex and cigarette smoke, but neither of them pay much attention to it, not when Zayn is coming up to Liam, pressing his hands against the sturdiness of Liam’s chest, drifting down the strength of Liam’s stomach until he reaches the solid buckle of Liam’s belt.

Zayn’s eyes catch Liam’s and Liam sees how affected Zayn is, how his pupils are blown wide, eyes glimmering in the dim light of the room.

“You haven’t fucked me yet,” Zayn says, with an air of confidence that jolts down Liam’s spine, makes his cock twitch underneath his jeans.

Raising an eyebrow, Liam doesn’t move, just allows Zayn to pull the strap of his leather belt from the buckle and pop the button of his jeans, lowering the zipper. “Is that what you want?” Liam asks. “For me to fuck you?”

Nodding, Zayn finds the hem of Liam’s shirt, pulling it up and over Liam’s head when he raises his arms. Zayn looks like he’s marveling, like he’s amazed by Liam’s body and—

When Zayn lets the towel around his waist drop to the floor, Liam knows he’s awestruck, because Zayn is beautiful, every single part of him. He stands tall, with a confidence in his limbs that makes the fire in Liam’s stomach burn bright, hot, makes him _want_. Liam’s eyes drift over the expanse of offered flesh, the way the tattoos are drawn up Zayn’s arms, over his chest, littered on his ribs and the fronts of his hips; Liam vows to get his mouth on every inch of skin he can reach, feel the pulsing heat of Zayn’s blood underneath his lips.

“Yes,” Zayn’s simple response comes. He steps forward, curls his arms around Liam’s neck, raises up on his toes to press his mouth to the corner of Liam’s jaw. Liam’s on fire from it all. “I want so much, Liam. Want you to take your time touching me, want you to use your tongue, yeah? Your mouth, want your fingers to open me up for you. God, I want you to fuck me hard. Fuck me _good_.” Zayn pulls back, but Liam’s quicker with his limbs, with his reflexes, reaches his hands down to pick up Zayn up by the back of his thighs. Zayn’s already so hard, leaking, pressed up against Liam’s stomach.

“Whatever you want, Zayn. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”

Liam sets Zayn down on the bed and sets out to start, stealing a kiss from Zayn’s pink lips, but not lingering, much to Zayn’s surprised gasp. Liam sets soft, open mouth kisses on Zayn’s body, taking the most care he can, flicking his tongue over the jutting bones of Zayn’s collar, sucking in marks between the wisps of ink of Zayn’s tattoos. And Zayn; Zayn is lovely like this, in the darkness, but Liam’s eyes are accustomed to this kind of darkness, can see the way Zayn’s muscles are already straining. Liam’s thriving on it.

Liam’s hands follow his mouth, worshipping skin like it’s the last time he’ll ever be this way with Zayn, like he knows Zayn’s body, even though this is the first time he’s ever laid Zayn on his bed this way, with the intent of so much more than the desperation of dirty grinding and quick hand jobs. It’s like Liam can’t quite breathe, even though he doesn’t need to, but this, Zayn like this, is breathtaking. One look up at Zayn’s face, lips parted to release the smallest, softest moans, eyes closed, neck bared, makes Liam’s mouth water, makes his gums ache, makes his dick hard just thinking about what he’s going to do to Zayn, what this is going to end up as.

It’s perfection, just his body and Zayn’s body, and nothing else.

Liam lets go of control, lets his urges reign free, and he mouths over Zayn’s body, biting down wherever he can reach, listening to the way Zayn’s breath hitches, the way his moans crash over his skin like the waves of the ocean. His teeth sink into the flesh of Zayn’s collar, over his shoulder, on the sides of his waist, on the fronts of his hips, just beside to the blocky heart tattooed into his skin. And Zayn’s trembling, calling out Liam’s name, and Liam feels good, so good right now, with Zayn’s body so desperate and needy for him, and they haven’t done _anything_.

Zayn is a mess, smears of blood Liam wants to lick up; Zayn’s the picture of sex lying back against the pillows, hands gripping the sheets as Liam runs his hands down Zayn’s body, over the muscles and skin and Liam is entranced by him. How can he be so affected by this one person? How is that possible?

Liam sits back on legs, watches Zayn open his eyes and suck in a breath. Liam’s body is burning with the kind of heat he only ever feels with Zayn. “Come on, love. Up on your hands and knees.”

Zayn sits up and the kneels before Liam and he’s just a little bit taller this way, enough that he has to lean forward to kiss him, just one soft, chaste kiss before he does as he’s asked.

Liam sucks in a breath; Zayn’s body is smooth, sweet, still in the middle of the bed when he’s perched on his knees, hands bracing his weight on the sheets. Zayn’s hanging his head, waiting so patiently while Liam just observes, watches, lets his eyes have their fill of the sweet expanse of Zayn’s limbs, the shape of the muscles in his back and the way his thighs strain; Liam puts his hands in the dip of Zayn’s back, hears the hiss that falls from Zayn’s mouth.

“Liam _, please_ ,” Zayn whines, breathless, and Liam relents, bends forward to press soft, open mouth kisses over the heat of Zayn’s skin; Zayn’s heartbeat is unbelievable, thumping so quick Liam thinks it might give out, but Zayn’s stronger than that, isn’t he?

“Be patient, love. We’ll get there,” Liam murmurs, pressing kisses down against the spine splintered in Zayn’s back, against the back of his rib cage where the bones curve towards his chest. He lowers his kisses until he’s reached the dimples in Zayn’s back and his hands are on the flesh of Zayn’s ass, and Liam licks his lips as he watches the way Zayn’s hole flutter, clenching around nothing. Liam’s set out to rectify that, with his tongue first, like now, listening to the way Zayn moans brokenly, how his body jerks when Liam presses the flat of his tongue against Zayn’s hole.

Liam licks over it, one hand pressed over the small of Zayn’s back like he’s trying to keep him still, but Zayn just pushes back against Liam’s face, and well, Liam loves it, the unabashed desperation, and it only serves to make Liam harder, dripping precome on his thigh from where his cock sits neglected.

Liam licks Zayn up, long broad strikes of his tongue until Liam presses his tongue in and Zayn falls from holding himself up on his hands, just drops to his elbows like he can’t bear his own weight. Liam can hear the slick sound of Zayn’s hand on his cock, the way his breath comes in shallow, almost wheezing like he can’t get enough. Zayn’s hips move and Liam can’t stop, holding the cheeks of Zayn’s open so he can get in as deep as he can.  

The only reason Liam pulls back at all is to chastise Zayn. “Don’t touch yourself. Just keep your hands on the bed.”

“Fuck, _Li_ , I need it—“

Liam hums, presses his tongue back against Zayn’s hole, and Zayn whimpers, his back arching. Then, Liam steps away all together, climbs off the bed with a swift, “Don’t move, love,” as he goes in search for a bottle of lubricant, something he can’t even remember keeping. And he finds it in the bathroom, along with a strip of condoms, and walks back into the room, finding Zayn still in the same position, ass in the air with his toes clenched and his fingers gripping the sheets. From here, Liam can see the heaviness of Zayn’s cock hanging between his legs, hard and dripping and Liam can’t believe that this, all of this, is just his, just for him.

He knows he doesn’t deserve it, even as he climbs on the bed, drops the ribbon of condoms and the lube just off to his side on the mattress, and drapes his body over Zayn’s back; he knows he doesn’t deserve this man underneath him, as he presses his mouth against the nape of Zayn’s neck and whispers, “Open your mouth, baby.”

Zayn takes in two of Liam’s fingers, works his tongue over them to get them wet. And when Liam pulls his fingers back, he rescinds his whole body, letting Zayn’s whimper echo off the walls of the bedroom as Liam leans back down behind Zayn’s body, swiping his index finger over Zayn’s hole not quite pressing inside even though Zayn is begging for him to. Zayn’s heartbeat is like thunder in Liam’s ears, and he sounds breathless, and it’s like music, the sweetest kind.

Alongside his finger, Liam presses his tongue, stretching the rim of Zayn’s hole, keeping him wet. Zayn moans, chants Liam’s name and it builds the fire inside of Liam’s belly, sitting hot and low and desperation rides Liam’s skin the same way it does Zayn.

“Liam, please, I need—I need—“

Liam presses in another finger, watches Zayn’s body swallow them, the way Zayn arches his back and pushes back against Liam’s hand. Liam takes the lube and opens it, drizzles it over where his fingers are moving inside of Zayn, stretching him open. Zayn hisses and Liam keeps going, closing the bottle and tossing it elsewhere, momentarily forgotten while Liam stretches Zayn open, vibrating with several different emotions, wanting so badly to be inside of Zayn, just as badly as Zayn wants to come. There’s the musky smell of sex blanketing the air, the obscene wet sound of Liam’s fingers pressing into Zayn, the shameless noises Zayn makes—it’s almost too much, and—

“Is this what you wanted?” Liam asks, voice dark, deep, his normal lilt laden with gravel.

From where Liam is kneeling, he can see Zayn nodding, face pressed into the pillows.

“Answer me, Zayn,” Liam commands, “I want to hear you say it.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Zayn moans, “this is what I want, this is all I want. I just—I want you to fuck me, _please._ ”

Liam grins to himself, and pushes in a third finger and Zayn sucks in a shallow breath, hips rocking down into nothing and then pushing back, building a rhythm that’s quick and dirty until Zayn is begging, like he’s sobbing for it. Liam, overcome with pure thirst, just bites down where his mouth can reach, just on the back of Zayn’s thigh, where the blood flow is thick and warm and rushing into Liam’s mouth and he tastes like bliss, like sweet fruit. Liam is quick to pull back and lick over the wound. He pulls his fingers from Zayn’s hole and lets his eyes run over the sweaty expanse of Zayn’s body, from the tightness in his shoulders to the way his back is tense and arched, the way his hole clenches over nothing.

Liam moves to tear a condom from the strip, roll it down his cock before covering himself in lube and stroking himself just a few times and he’s just so—

It’s indescribable, how it feels to sink down into Zayn. He’s hot and tight, and Liam feels like he could cry from how good it is, how Zayn’s body just continues to provide sheer, unadulterated pleasure to Liam. Zayn is quiet, only softly breathing, heart frantic in his chest as Liam sinks deeper, hands pressed into the dip of Zayn’s back, sliding to take hold of his hips.

When he’s all the way in, Zayn groans, shifts slightly, but doesn’t wait for very long, like he doesn’t care, but Liam knows better; he doesn’t want to hurt Zayn, so he forces himself to wait, to still behind Zayn while Zayn rocks back and forth on him, like he’s testing it, and then he’s hissing, “Liam, _fuck_ , please move.”

From there, it’s a reckless rhythm, built on wanting to tear Zayn apart, wreck him, satiate and satisfy him. And Liam works to cant his hips forward, quick, snapping thrusts into Zayn’s body so the sound of skin smacking resonates in the air, just the sweet undertone lying underneath Zayn’s groaning, the way he chants _please_ and _Liam, right there_ like they’re prayers.

“Is—this—what—you—wanted?” Liam asks, each word punctuated with the strong, deliberate thrusting and Zayn is nodding again, but it isn’t enough, Liam needs to hear his voice, needs to hear the confidence when he answers Liam with that torn up voice, slurred from the pleasure that Liam knows is rocketing through Zayn’s body.

“Yes, Liam _, God_ , yes it’s all I—fuck—it’s all I want.” Zayn reaches back with one hand, sets it on the back of Liam’s thigh and Liam drapes his body over Zayn’s, rocking his hips into Zayn, the slide of his cock inside of him, where it’s hot and wet—it’s too much, but he doesn’t want to stop, wants to stay this way, sinking his teeth right into Zayn’s neck as he fucks him down against the bed, with Zayn begging for him not to stop.

Liam can’t say anything with Zayn’s blood pulsing in his mouth, sliding down his throat, filling him up, but he does reach around the front of Zayn’s hips, takes him into his hand and stroke Zayn off, until Zayn’s body is trembling underneath him, and all Liam hears echoing in his ears is the syllables of his name, so soft, Zayn’s breath stops for a fraction of a second, before he’s shattering and Zayn is coming, all over Liam’s hand and the bed and—

It’s too much for Liam to keep holding off; he breaks just as hard, shattering into pieces as Zayn’s body slumps underneath his. Zayn gulps down huge breaths of air, his hole contracting around Liam’s cock as he spills inside of Zayn. Liam retracts his teeth and trades the bite for a sweet kiss to Zayn’s sweaty skin.

“Fuck,” Zayn breathes, and Liam moves just slightly, but Zayn is quick to protest: “Wait, wait, just—don’t move yet,” he murmurs and at this point, Liam would do anything for Zayn, would keep him here, in this bed, if it meant Zayn would be happy.

It’s a long while, Liam thinks, with his cheek pressed against Zayn’s back, still pressed over the line of Zayn’s body before they move. And when they do, Zayn whimpers and Liam does most of it, situating Zayn against the sheets.

“I’m exhausted, Liam,” he says, looking up at Liam with brown eyes that glitter full of trust that Liam doesn’t, and will never, deserve. Liam smiles, lies next to Zayn’s body, pulling him close.

“Of course you are. Do you want a bath first, or do you want me to clean you up?” Liam asks, pressing a kiss over Zayn’s forehead. Zayn hums.

“I don’t want to move, please don’t make me,” Zayn says.

Liam chuckles, standing from the bed to enter the bathroom, ridding himself of the condom and grabbing a cloth and soaking it underneath the water from the faucet.

When he returns to the bedroom, Zayn is lying there, looking like comfort, eyes closed.

Liam knows he’s sleeping and there’s a feeling, that just drops in Liam’s stomach, and Liam does his best to clean Zayn up, soft swipes of the damp fabric over Liam’s thighs and his bottom. Liam tosses the rag to the ground, vows to deal with it in the morning.

He climbs into bed with Zayn, tries not to feel like this is it, that it’s this easy to love someone. To love Zayn.

He doesn’t really sleep that night.

-

In the morning, when Liam wakes, he looks over at Zayn’s sleeping body, the way his face is peaceful, how his body is burrowed underneath the blankets of the bed they share, naked skin peeking out from underneath the fabric of the covers. It’s sweet, the picture of an imagined Sunday morning with a lover, with someone he loves.

He knows he can’t give Zayn what he wants. He knows, right then, that he isn’t what Zayn needs, he isn’t beneficial to Zayn’s wellbeing. Not when Zayn shines so bright and Liam’s a cloud of darkness just shrouding Zayn’s natural vibrancy.

They aren’t even touching, and it hurts a little bit, somewhere deep inside of him. They aren’t even touching, lying next to each other on the bed, and the sun is coming through the window, filtered through the drapes, and there are slashes of light that cover Zayn’s body. Liam doesn’t have to disentangle himself from Zayn’s sleeping body, just stands from the bed, and walks into the bathroom.

There isn’t a decision to make. It’s just the one thing he knows he has to do. As much as he cares for Zayn, he knows that this isn’t forever. He knows that there’s an expiration date for what they are when they’re together, whether it’s sixty years from now, or in the next ten minutes—there’s an end. They aren’t forever and Liam, well, he wishes they were.

But he can’t be responsible for blocking Zayn from the bright future he knows he could have.

-

Liam takes a cold shower and then dresses in a pair of jeans, his boots, a tshirt and his jacket. He doesn’t bother much with his hair, lets it sit curly on his head. He takes a look at Zayn again, still sleeping in the bed underneath the warmth of his sheets.

And then he leaves.

-

It isn’t for hours later, four or five hours after Liam left that his phone rings in his pocket. Pulling it out, Liam reads Zayn’s number. He silences the call and lets it go to voicemail.

And then again when Zayn calls.

And again.

And again.

Until the phone calls stop.

-

The calls start up again, when it’s eleven or so and the sun has long since set and the stars are out but the city is too bright for Liam to admire them all. He’s sitting in a hotel room in a city he can’t pronounce in Spain of all places. Because he had to leave, and he had to go out of his way, because he could easily turn around and go back to him but—

He won’t let himself. And he isn’t going to let Niall talk him into it either.

“What?” Liam says by way of greeting.

“Where are you?” Niall asks, and his voice is light. “Zayn’s called and said you left him in the house. Haven’t been picking up your phone, so he thought you might have left it behind, but then again—I know who you are and I know you’re ignoring him. Where are you?”

“It doesn’t matter. If Zayn calls you again, just tell him to stop calling,” Liam says, hanging his head, sighing. Looking out of the large window, Liam stares at nothing in particular.

“You’re a coward, Liam. Don’t do this to him. You know the kid is head over heels—“

Liam shuts Niall down, cuts off his tinny voice. “It doesn’t matter,” he reiterates. “It was going to be over anyway, at least he can move on and be with someone else.” Liam clears his throat. “This is ridiculous. We don’t get this kind of happiness, Niall.  And I feel like I’m just starting to realize this.”

Liam hangs up the phone, and leaves it on the unmade bed in the hotel room, shuts off the light before closing the door behind him.

-

The days blur together in a mess of blood and sex and alcohol, day and night mixes and Liam can’t tell the difference between five in the morning or eleven at night.

When the sun shines on him, burning hot, there’s still the urge sometimes, to go running home. He doesn’t because he knows better.

Some days he just wants to pull the ring off his fingers, turn to ash under the bruising kiss of the sun. He doesn’t though, because he’d miss it. He’s miss it all.

The burn in his throat doesn’t subside, doesn’t lessen, doesn’t drown out even though the flow of the wet stickiness of blood is never ending, even though he feeds when he wants to, whenever someone catches his eye. For a moment, just a fraction of a second, there’s a thought, how this person underneath him isn’t anything like he needs, isn’t what he wants. 

It’s his own fault really.

But he can’t go back now. He can’t and he won’t and it’s fine. He’s fine.

-

It’s been months. Seven of them. For someone like Zayn, that’s quite a bit of time; for Liam, it passed like a blink of an eye, spent drinking and fucking and shamelessly avoiding the fact that he’s a coward.

It’s easy to sneak up on Zayn like this, because it’s been time enough that Zayn must’ve forgotten about him. Yet, there’s an inkling of doubt in that, especially when he remembers Zayn that night, in his bed, underneath him, so pliant and beautiful with sweat clinging to his skin and his eyes blown with; no, he doesn’t think Zayn’s forgotten that night, not really, just like it plays on loop in Liam’s mind, catches him off guard and he hears the way Zayn moaned his name echo in his ears.

Zayn is nestled neatly in an armchair with a book over his lap. He’s got a jacket draped over him and there’s a lad that walks over; Liam knows that’s Harry, pretty Harry with his curls and long limbs and soft face laden with baby features, a youth to him he may never grow out of. Zayn looks warm and content, even smiles at Harry when Harry comes by and sits on Zayn’s lap.

Maybe it’s just one of those things; Liam loses. He’s lost a lot, most of it things he can’t even remember, but so help him, if he lives for centuries more, he’d never forget how he lost Zayn.

The fact is, had Liam not left, had Liam stayed to wake Zayn up when the sun had arisen that morning, maybe Zayn would smile at him the way he smiles at Harry.

Liam’s lost many things, and he hates that he’ll have to add Zayn’s smile to that list.

-

Niall answers the door to his home with a surprised look on his face, though it's quickly masked into indifference.

“Honestly, I thought you'd be gone longer,” Niall says, his voice light and easy going, though fairly cautious.

Liam shrugs; he doesn't quite know what to say to Niall after being away for several months. He just steps inside when Niall makes room for him to.

There are people swarming; Liam can see the fresh vampires walking around out of boredom. There are lights on but the curtains are drawn so they're safe from the scorch of the sun. They won't get rings for a century or so, and a part of Liam pities them. A lifetime of darkness is too much to bear.

“What are you doing here, then?” Niall asks, tone conversational, like Niall doesn't have a care in the world, and Liam supposes he doesn't. Someone as old as Niall doesn't have very much to worry about.

“Dunno. Missed home, I guess,” Liam responds. They walk to the kitchen and Niall fixes them a few glasses of wine. Liam downs his like he's thirsty; with the image of Zayn so fresh in his mind he feels guilty. For going away for months without an explanation. Without so much as a goodbye. It's so hard to forget someone like Zayn; Liam knows he never will forget him. Not unless he's forced to.

“Do you think you could make me forget?” Liam asks, setting his glass on the counter. One of the fledglings comes in and Niall banishes them, in a language Liam doesn't understand.

Niall turns his attention to Liam, eyes curious and full of wonder. They glitter, even in the dim light, dark. “I'm strong, Liam, but I'm not capable of compelling a vampire. You know that.”

Liam shrugs, picking up the wine bottle and pouring himself another glass. “It doesn't hurt to ask, does it?”

“I suppose not. But you should go see him.” Niall drinks from his glass, leans back against the counter and watches Liam curiously. Liam can feel the weight of Niall’s gaze and the guilt comes rushing back in, flooding him. Liam sighs, shaking his head.

“He's happy now. I would ruin that,” Liam murmurs. And he thinks it's true, that seeing Zayn would make it all crumble. He didn't deserve Zayn’s compassion before. He certainly doesn't deserve it now.

“You think so?” Niall wonders. “He loved you, Liam. You wouldn't believe the way he sounded when he called me, looking for you, and you were already halfway to Spain by then.”

Liam snaps his vision up to Niall. “I never told you where I was.”

Niall grins, eyes glinting with mischief. “It would do you some good to know that I know everything, Liam. It's been centuries and you're still so damn thick.” Niall sighs. “He was a wreck, asking me if you would come back. And I told him you weren't and he hung up. That is the last I've heard from him.”

Liam scrubs a hand over his face. “I shouldn't. It won't matter anyway. He probably won't want to see me anyway. And I didn't come for him. I just wanted to come home.”

Niall laughs and it tears Liam's resolve. “There isn't a chance in hell I'd believe that.”

Liam rolls his eyes, but he can't say anything because it's true. He did come home, but home is where Zayn is, and he doesn't know if he's allowed back. What he did was ruthless. He doesn't deserve to be let back in, and if there's a chance Zayn does let him back in, it'd be broken. Zayn would never trust him again.

“Just go. You won't know until you try, Liam. You have to try.”

-

Liam’s not very good at losing. Especially when this is something he could have if he tried.

So he does.

-

Liam waits until it’s dark, until night has fallen and the street lamps have come on, and the moon hangs high in the sky, white porcelain shining, muting the luminosity of the stars. Everyone is tucked into their homes and the streets have quieted some; there’s a gentle stillness to the air.

The steps to Zayn’s apartment are easy; he’s been there enough times that Liam could walk the path in his sleep. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, has no right to come back to Zayn after all this time. He’s made so many mistakes; if he could just right this wrong, maybe he could feel that glowing blaze of happiness he had. Maybe.

Like a teenager ridden with nerves, Liam stands outside of Zayn’s door for moments before he can compose himself to allow himself to knock on Zayn’s door. He doesn’t know if Zayn is awake, but he can hear a solitary heartbeat coming from the other side of the door, just a small, complacent thumping underneath the sounds of explosions coming from the television.

Liam knocks.

He doesn’t expect Zayn to answer. Doesn’t expect anything to happen as he waits to hear telltale footsteps. It takes a moment before he does, hearing Zayn’s feet brush along the carpet, stop right in front of the door.

“Who is it?”

Liam debates on whether he should say something, and wants to decide against it, in case Zayn won’t let him in. He knows what he’s done, knows he’s broken Zayn, and fuck, leaving Zayn with all those memories was the worst part; Zayn could be happy now, rid of memories of a terrible man that broke his heart.

“It’s me,” Liam says instead, sighing when he hears Zayn’s heart drumming, racing, pounding so recklessly. He doesn’t hear Zayn move from the other side. The door doesn’t open either. “Zayn, please,” Liam pleads, pressing his forehead to the door, hoping Zayn will open it and Liam will topple into Zayn and they’ll fall into the floor and this will all be the sickening, romantic comedy type of disgusting that Liam’s never let himself indulge in.

Zayn doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, but Liam can hear him breathing, can hear his heart beating and it’s almost enough, to know Zayn is still standing there. Liam stands upright, knowing when to admit defeat, to walk away from a losing game. But the door opens and Liam is looking right at Zayn who’s sleep soft, wide brown eyes and an angry downturn of his lips.

“What do you want?” Zayn spits, glaring at Liam. It’s like Zayn knows better, staying on the other side of the threshold where Liam can’t get to him. 

“May I come in?” Liam asks, hands stuffed into his pockets. He glances up at Zayn and Zayn looks weary.

“No.” Zayn shakes his head. “I don’t want you here, Liam. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

The thing is, Zayn looks like he means it, sounds like it’s his final decision to send Liam away. Liam understands that, Liam understands the severity of the issue at hand; Liam’s taken this human for granted and here he is, a step away from begging for forgiveness.

“Zayn, please, I just want a chance to explain—“ Liam tries, but Zayn’s words are fast, and they cut deep.

“To explain what, Liam? To tell me how you fucked me, after months of whatever the fuck we were doing, and then you leave for seven months without a single word just to show up and ask me to forgive you? No. I’m not doing this, Liam. I’m not going to just let you in because it’s what _you_ want. What about what _I_ wanted? Huh? What about that? Didn’t make a fucking difference when I woke up and you fucked off and I was here, waiting for you, like a fucking—I’m not doing this, Liam. No, you can’t come in. I don’t—“

Liam sucks in a sharp breath, shaking his head. “Stop. Stop, Zayn, please. I’m _sorry_ ,” Liam says, reaching forward to take Zayn’s hand, but he’s blocked by the barrier, his hand thumping against the invisible wall that separates him from Zayn. Liam feels like it’s burned him, snatches his hand back, and Zayn watches him struggle, watches him grovel and plead and doesn’t move from his spot behind the threshold.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “ _Sorry_ doesn’t make up for anything, Liam. Goodnight.” Zayn shuts the door, but Liam doesn’t hear him walk away, like he’s just standing there on the other side of the door, like he knows Liam isn’t going to leave.

There’s a long, terse silence, one Liam doesn’t mind waiting out. And Liam waits for a long while, listens as Zayn’s breath evens and his heart isn’t pounding anymore. Liam just listens, until Zayn opens the door again.

“If I let you in, are you going to leave again?” Zayn asks, voice small, like he's frightened, and Liam deserves that, for Zayn to be scared of being hurt again. But Liam can make this promise, tell Zayn he isn’t going to run away again. He isn’t strong enough to, even though he’s tried convincing himself that distance from Zayn was a good thing.

“No, God, Zayn, I’m not going to leave, I promise,” Liam says, shaking his head.

Zayn holds his hand out. “I want your ring. I—“

Liam, standing on the step of Zayn’s apartment, slides the ring from the middle finger of his right hand, and drops it into Zayn’s hand. The sun is due to rise soon. There isn’t a way Liam could leave without _dying_. Zayn has to know, deep down, that Liam won’t leave. That he can’t.

Zayn slides the ring onto his own middle finger. Liam tries not to think of how lovely it looks there, surrounded by the brown of Zayn’s skin.

“Can I come in, then?” Liam asks, tentative, with bated breath, until Zayn nods.

“You may come in, Liam,” he says formally, and just like that, like magic, there isn’t a barrier anymore, there isn’t anything separating him from Zayn. And he doesn’t _let_ anything separate him from Zayn. He all but marches forward and curls his arms around Zayn’s waist, and Zayn’s hungry for it, and their mouths collide with bruising force. They kiss right there, in the open doorway of Zayn’s apartment, Liam’s tongue swiping over Zayn’s bottom lip, enjoying the taste he’s missed for so, so long.

There’s a tension in the air, strong and thick, and Liam wants Zayn, wants him so badly, from the way his pulse spikes from the arousal to the way his fingers tug at Liam’s clothes like he’s trying to get Liam out of them.

Liam moves them further into the apartment, kicking the door shut, and then, it’s a race to get out of clothing, the echo of tearing fabric renting the air for seconds until it’s exchanged for Zayn’s soft sighs as Liam backs Zayn into a wall, sets the palms of his hands on the backs of Zayn’s thighs to hoist him up. Zayn’s legs curl around Liam’s hips and they’re a mess, grinding into each other.

Liam’s face is tucked into the slope of Zayn’s throat, tonguing over Zayn’s pulse, the way it jumps underneath the weight and warmth of his tongue. Zayn’s got his hands in Liam’s hair, tugging but keeping Liam pressed close. Liam’s hips move on their own accord, rolling into Zayn’s where Zayn has grown hard in his flimsy sleep pants. Liam retracts one hand from where it rests on Zayn’s ass to bring it between each of their bodies and palm against Zayn’s cock.

“ _Liam,_ I need you,” Zayn pants, and Liam fits his hand underneath the fabric of Zayn’s pants and gets a hand around him, stroking lazily, like Liam hasn’t been waiting for this just as long. Zayn is desperate, needy, rocking up into Liam’s hold around his dick, whining softly into the otherwise quiet air. Liam suckles along the lines of Zayn’s collar, pressing marks into his unmarred flesh with his tongue and teeth. Zayn’s heartbeat is a symphony in his ears, an echo so loud it’s all Liam can hear, and Liam is hungry, starving, and all he wants to do is lay Zayn back against bedsheets, press inside of his lithe body, and sink his teeth right underneath the corner of Zayn’s jaw.

Zayn’s fingers card through Liam’s hair, down the nape of his neck and over Liam’s bare shoulders, scratching his fingernails against cool skin. Zayn moan brokenly when Liam grips him tighter, his hand moving swiftly as Zayn cants his hips into Liam’s grip.

“Fuck me, please, I want to—God I want to suck you off and then I want you to fuck me,” Zayn says in half a whisper, half groaning. Liam doesn’t need to be told twice; he carries Zayn’s body through the empty halls of the apartment, pushing open the first door he sees. It’s a bedroom, is all Liam knows, and there’s a slight squeak from Zayn when he realizes maybe Liam was wrong.

“Liam, Liam, _wait_ , we can’t fuck in here,” Zayn pleads, but Liam ignores him, lets him down on the bed in the center of the room, and climbs on him. Zayn pulls Liam up for a kiss, his tongue insistent inside of Liam’s mouth, like he searching for a taste, barely breathing through his nose, like sucking the air from Liam’s lungs will allow him to live.

Liam pulls off to kiss down Zayn’s naked torso, over the myriad of tattoos that ink his skin, kissing and nipping around Zayn’s navel, swiping his tongue right above where Zayn’s pants sit; Liam can taste the precome from before, from when Liam had his hand wrapped around Zayn’s dick and Zayn was panting for it. Liam hooks his fingers in the waistband of Zayn’s pants, watching him with careful eyes, forgetting every reason he left and only thinking of all the reasons he should stay. Liam slinks Zayn’s pants down his thighs, over his kneecaps and Zayn kicks them off, widening his legs just slightly.

“Come here,” Zayn murmurs, and Liam does as he’s asked, kisses the planes of Zayn’s body before reaching up and cupping Zayn’s cheek, pressing his mouth down into Zayn’s lips soft and gentle, like he’s trying to convey every emotion inside of him, the ones he can’t form words to explain. He knows what he feels, what it means, but he’s not ready for that yet. But if Zayn could just understand him, understand through the touches he gifts Zayn, maybe it’s a step in the right direction.

“Want you to fuck me, okay?” Zayn says, “Want you to fuck me so badly, babe, I missed you.” Zayn cards his fingers through Liam’s hair again, presses his mouth hot against Liam’s neck, sucks his own marks into Liam’s skin and Liam feels alive with them, like his own heart is in overdrive, pumping blood through his veins; he feels like he might suffocate from lack of oxygen, from the way Zayn kisses him breathless.

Zayn works to undress Liam from the rest of his clothing, kicking off jeans and boots and toeing off socks, and when it’s just them and flesh and wandering hands, Zayn lays Liam back against the bed, slinks down the length of Liam’s body with his mouth, hands touching all the expanse of flesh Zayn can reach. Watching Zayn worship his body is mesmerizing, makes his blood sing in his veins, makes him relentlessly hard, cock leaking where it sits over his belly, smearing precome just underneath his navel.

Liam watches as Zayn presses his lips just over the inside of his thigh, kisses up over the crease between his thigh and his hip. Liam watches with raptured eyes because he can’t do anything; he feels alive, so alive, but it’s like he’s powerless. As much as he hates feeling like that, inferior and submissive, right now, it’s the sexiest thing, watching as Zayn controls him with his fingers and his mouth, as he licks his tongue over Liam’s dick, swiping at the precome. Liam’s thighs are quivering, his limbs are shaking, trying his damned hardest not to fuck up into the wet heat of Zayn’s mouth. Zayn’s eyes are shining, even in the dark of the room, and Liam, fuck, Liam is in love with him.

Zayn sucks him down, until the tip of Zayn’s nose is brushing through the coarse hair around the base of his dick, until Zayn’s pulling off to gasp for air, putting his mouth over Liam again, licking around the head, down the shaft, one hand quick to cup Liam’s balls where they rest heavy between his thighs. Watching Zayn suck him off is an experience all its own, the way Zayn keeps Liam’s eyes on him, how vocal Zayn is about it, how it makes Zayn just as hard to be on his knees, sucking down Liam’s dick like he’s made for it. 

“I love this,” Zayn rasps, one hand gripped tight around Liam, jacking him off as Zayn licks his lips, lets his eyes flutter closed for just a moment before he’s staring up at Liam. “I love this, so much, having you in my mouth, so thick and hot, tastes so good,” Zayn rambles, like he’s a little bit drunk from it all, and Liam decides then that he wants Zayn on these sheets, spread over for Liam so Liam can dick down into him, fuck him like he’s been asking.

“Come here, darling,” Liam beckons, and like he still has a little bit of power left, Zayn does as he’s asked, crawls up the length of Liam’s body. Liam winds an arm around Zayn’s waist, uses his leverage to flip their positions and settle Zayn neatly against the bedsheets. He’s beautiful like this, like every other time they’ve fucked before, in the middle of the day with sunlight splashing over Zayn’s golden skin, or under the dim glow of a chandelier when they fuck on the dining room table, in the middle of the night, when it’s just them in a room full of dark shadows on soft cotton sheets. Zayn is beautiful this way, when every inch of his skin is bare and presented to Liam, like it’s all for him.

His eyes wander the planes of Zayn’s body; nothing has changed. Zayn’s body is still slim, with a secret strength in those sinewy muscles, an illusion of long limbs and strong arms and legs he knows will keep him in place as he sinks down into Zayn. There are the tattoos, the marks Liam’s made with his mouth; it all belongs to Liam in some obscure way when two people love each other as much as Liam thinks they do.

“Zayn, I’m so sorry,” Liam murmurs, looking down at Zayn, bringing his hand up to cup Zayn’s cheek, run the pad of his thumb over the apple of Zayn’s cheek.

Shaking his head, Zayn sighs. “Don’t be sorry, Liam. Please don’t be sorry. You’re here now,” Zayn whispers, leaning up on his elbows to kiss Liam and Liam kisses back, because Zayn is right. He’s here now, pressed against Zayn’s body with nothing between them. It’s euphoric.

It’s satisfying.

Zayn breaks their kiss, reaching past Liam’s body to rifle through the bedside drawer for a bottle of lubricant and a condom. Zayn presses both items into Liam’s hand, and Liam leans down to kiss Zayn once more before he’s moving away, back down in between Zayn’s spread legs. The view this way is incredible, watching the way Zayn’s muscles tense before relaxing and then tense up again each time Liam touches him. Liam leans forward to kiss over Zayn’s tummy, lick over the head of Zayn’s dick and suckle at the tip like he knows Zayn likes before he opens the bottle and wets his fingers with the lube.

“You like this don’t you?” Liam whispers over Zayn’s skin as he slides a solitary finger over Zayn’s dick. Zayn whimpers, and it’s such a sweet sound that Liam can’t hold back, slips a finger inside of Zayn, watches the way his body arches for it. “You love it, a lot more than being on your knees, don’t you? Just love lying on your back with my fingers inside of you, opening you up for me, huh?” Liam says, licking a long, slow stripe over Zayn’s dick, listening as his breath hitches and his heart beats recklessly in the cage of his ribs. It’s beautiful, a symphony, and Liam can’t imagine anything sounding better than Zayn when he’s wrecked like this. Liam slides in another wet finger, pushing them deep inside only to draw them out, slowly, so slowly he can feel Zayn’s thighs shake with anticipation.

“Liam, please,” Zayn whines, widening his legs, pushing his hips down into Liam’s hand. Liam gives him what he wants because watching Zayn like this, exposed and vulnerable, naked in every sense of the word, is a lot, too much to take in, but Liam loves it, loves it all, and he wouldn’t take his eyes off of Zayn for anything.

“Tell me how much you love it, Zayn. Tell me—“

“I _love_ it,” Zayn breathes, pushing himself up on his forearms, reaching down with one hand to take himself in his hand, stroke slowly as Liam continues with his fingers, pressing three in, watching as Zayn lets his head drop back to release a moan, loud and unabashed, shameless and sexy. It’s the only thing Liam wants to hear for the rest of his existence; the sounds of Zayn being pleased, of being sexually satisfied. “I love it so much, Liam, _god,_ I love—“

Liam takes his time with his fingers, stretching Zayn, listening to him whine and chant his name, cry out when Liam’s fingers hook and find exactly what Zayn needs; the arch of Zayn’s back is mesmerizing, how Zayn reaches down with his hands to clutch at the bedsheets and grind his hips into Liam’s touch; it’s so beautiful Liam has a hard time breathing, a hard time finding the breath he needs to keep going. There’s fire in his throat, a hunger so deeply embedded inside of him; watching Zayn like this is just teasing, listening to Zayn’s heartbeat is messing with his head; Liam can’t keep his thoughts straight enough, just wants to climb over Zayn’s body and climb inside of him, feel the way Zayn clutches his thighs around his hips like it’ll pull Liam deeper—

“Liam, _babe,_ I want you. Come here,” Zayn says, reaching his fingers out to grasp at Liam’s forearms, sitting up, so he can pull Liam to his chest, kiss him on the mouth where his tongue is just waiting to taste. And Liam’s aching, with want and need and lust, the desire to be fully engulfed by Zayn. There isn’t any denying that it’s all Liam wants. It’s everything Liam wants, right here in a nondescript bedroom in the middle of a bustling city, underneath the dim twinkle of a million stars, feeling like it isn’t just him that has lifetimes worth of seconds, but Zayn too.

Liam kisses Zayn like it’s the last thing he’s ever going to do, like he’s something to prove; and he does, because here, right here, Zayn is _trusting_ him, and that’s a foreign weight on his shoulder, the responsibility to keep Zayn’s trust, because he’s broken it before and he knows, if he does so again, he won’t get it back.

Zayn pulls back from the kiss, reaching between their sweaty bodies to stoke Liam, slowly but knowingly, enough that Liam groans, growls a bit when it’s too much. “How do you want me?” Zayn asks with a gentle whisper, his voice feather soft in the quiet of the air. It’s still in the bedroom, because Liam wants him in so many different ways, on his stomach maybe, with Liam between his legs where he can get real deep, or with Zayn on his knees where Liam has the leverage to fuck into him devastatingly hard, or with Zayn on his back, Liam’s body draped over his; Liam grips Zayn around his waist, turns them over so Zayn is straddling his hips and their dicks rub up against one another’s, smearing precome over Liam’s belly.

“Like this,” Liam answers, because it’s good like this, with Zayn holding the power, with Zayn controlling it all, with Liam lying back and letting Zayn _use_ him.

“Like this,” Zayn echoes, grinding his hips down, nodding his head. Zayn’s hands settle right over Liam’s chest, finger nails gripping into flesh. Liam hisses, but it doesn’t hurt, not really, just sends a jolt down his spine, down to the thick of his dick and the heaviness of his balls. He just wants to be inside of Zayn so badly, needs it, really, and Zayn must know that, must feel it because he takes Liam’s cock in his hand, stokes up and down before he snatches the forgotten bottle of lube to wet Liam’s dick. Liam watches, completely enraptured at how Zayn is so comfortable like this, perched on Liam’s lap stroking him off.

Zayn lifts himself onto his knees, positioning Liam to line up and then slowly, painfully slow, Zayn sinks lower and lower, until the backs of Zayn’s thighs are flush against the cut of Liam’s hips. And he sits and stays, just looks down at Liam with fire in his eyes, hands set for leverage on Liam’s chest, and Liam; Liam feels like the breath is knocked out of him, looking up at Zayn who looks wild, with his hair a mess and his mouth open and his body naked and flushed with a glowing sheen of sweat.

In this moment, right here, Liam _knows_. Lifetimes will come and go, and there will never be anyone like Zayn.

Zayn swivels his hips, small circles where he grinds down in Liam, lets out tiny whimpers that Liam reaches up on his elbows to find Zayn’s mouth to swallow every noise Zayn makes.

Zayn’s rhythm is paced deliberately, calculated thrusts of his hips, measured to drive Liam crazy. Liam keeps an arm wound around Zayn’s waist, but doesn’t hinder Zayn’s rhythm. Zayn is hot, tight, and there’s nothing to be heard but their labored breaths, the slick sounds of shameless sex, the groans Liam releases when Zayn tightens around him. It’s not like Liam to control himself like this, he wants nothing more than to switch their positions, to fuck Zayn down into the bed, to make him feel every bit as good as he deserves, but Zayn won’t let him, slows down when he wants, speeds up like he’s teasing Liam; Liam sits up fully, grasps his hands fully on Zayn’s skinny hips, holding them but not controlling, just enough so Liam can gain just enough leverage to meet Zayn in the middle and thrust up inside of him every time Zayn sinks down. It’s euphoric, the feeling of a wildfire in his veins, the way his gums ache with the want for not just this, but the taste of his pulse.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Zayn breathes out on a broken moan, between little sighs and whimpers. “I don’t want to be—I just wanna be right here, Liam,” he mutters, leaning forward just slightly to catch Liam’s willing lips, lick his tongue over Liam’s bottom lip. “Just wanna be right here, riding you, letting you touch me, letting you fuck me. Don’t want you to go anymore,” Zayn says. Liam’s heart shatters in his chest, and it’s like his blood vessels explode inside of his body; all he’s ever done is hurt Zayn. All he’s ever done was manipulate his mind and _leave_ him. And Zayn; Zayn deserves so much more than that.

Zayn hides his face in Liam’s throat, whispering, “Tell me you won’t go, Liam, tell me you want to do this forever, just fuck me until we can’t anymore. Tell me this is all you want, just me. Tell me I’m what you want.”

It would be so easy to let the words roll off his tongue, for him to say it all, everything he’s ever wanted to say to Zayn from the moment he first saw him, to right now, all of the things Liam’s thought over the course of the collected moments he’s sat with Zayn or touched him or heard him speak. It would be so easy to pour words from his mouth explaining.

“Zayn, baby, Zayn,” Liam pleads, reaching a hand to Zayn’s face, slowing his thrusts so they rock gently into each other. “Zayn, look at me.”

Zayn pulls back, just slightly, so their noses are brushing and Liam can feel the softness of Zayn’s breath against his lips and Liam just—

Zayn’s eyes meet Liam’s and Liam gives it all back. All of the memories he’s ever taken from Zayn, from the very first time they’ve met, from the kisses and the touches and the promises Liam’s made and the way he’s always been undeniably, unequivocally, unapologetically in love with Zayn. Liam breaks down every block in Zayn’s head gives Zayn all of it, all of the parts he’s ever kept because he was selfish, because he thought he could keep parts of Zayn to himself, because he thought it wouldn’t matter.

But it does. It all matters because Zayn, fuck, Zayn matters. And Liam never wants to hurt Zayn again.

Zayn chokes out a moan that sounds more like a sob, like he’s caught in his emotions at remembering every encounter he’s ever had with Liam. Zayn’s hips move a little bit faster, a little bit reckless, without any real rhythm, just determination. Zayn sucks in a breath, like he can’t properly breathe and then Liam watches with rapt attention as Zayn draws his fingers from where they’re clutched in Liam’s hair to tap his throat.

“I want it, Liam, I want you to,” Zayn says, and he’s looking Liam right in the eye, like the heaviness of his gaze is going to draw Liam forward; it does. But Liam’s quick to ask, quick to make sure Zayn is certain, because—he’s taken so much from Zayn lately. “I’m sure, please. Please, I want you to.”

Liam, with the thirst burning in his throat, doesn’t deny Zayn, doesn’t deny himself. He’s fucking up into Zayn, hips moving slowly with Zayn grinding on his lap, and Liam tips Zayn’s head back, draws his tongue over the strained tendon of Zayn’s throat and lets his teeth sharpen so they press into Zayn’s flesh and a warm stream of Zayn’s blood floods over his tongue.

He’s careful; Zayn’s hips stutter over his own, and Liam pulls back, just enough to wrap his arm around Zayn’s waist and move them so Zayn lays back against the pillows. Liam climbs between Zayn’s thighs and slides right back inside of him, slow, gentle thrusts as he drinks from Zayn, calculated pushes of his hips as he fucks deep into him. Zayn’s fingers grapple, search for purchase along Liam’s shoulders, along the strong line of his back, and Zayn’s groans resonate on the walls, echo in Liam’s ears. The taste of Zayn is wild, thick and heady, just like every time he’s found himself here, sucking from Zayn, thrusting inside of him, shamelessly enjoying the feeling of Zayn’s thighs around his hips, Zayn’s knees at the sides of his ribs, the heels of his feet on the backs of Liam’s thighs.

“Yes, _Liam, yes,_ ” Zayn sighs, and his fingers card through Liam’s hair and Liam feels that power, that feeling of life vibrate through his veins, and it’s almost too much the way it builds low in his stomach, right there in his balls. Zayn’s fingernails drag down his back, and he’s shaking, moaning softly right in Liam’s ear. “Please touch me, I want—I need to come, I need you to touch me,” Zayn whines.

Liam pulls his mouth from Zayn’s neck, sooths the angry bite marks with the wet of his tongue, and leans up so he’s on his knees. Zayn’s hands rest on Liam’s forearms where Liam has his hands on Zayn’s hips, still canting forward into Zayn, watching Zayn take him so easily, like this is really all he wants, just this, just them, seconds away from orgasms and breathy sighs while they come down from their highs. Liam drags one hand from Zayn’s chest, over the lips that sit right over his sternum, over his taut stomach to grip his dick where it lays against his abdomen, leaking heavily.

“Right there, Liam, God, don’t _stop_.”

Liam strokes, his hand a blur over Zayn, until Zayn is gulping down his breaths, fingernails digging into Liam’s forearms as he arches his back and comes in long white stripes that mar Zayn’s gold-tinted flesh. It’s a sight, each and every time, and Liam can’t wait any longer, doesn’t want to as he leans over Zayn, propped on his elbows as he bites down over Zayn’s neck again and comes. The feeling boils in his blood, floods him, spills over the brim as he comes inside of Zayn with a harsh grunt and a soft drip of Zayn’s name from his tongue.

Liam doesn’t move and neither does Zayn.

It’s quiet for a while, just Liam’s body draped over Zayn, holding onto him, while Zayn cards his fingers through Liam’s sweaty hair. It’s a beautiful afterglow, Liam thinks, the best one yet. This is what it feels like with Zayn, each time better than the last, with his veins pumped full of adrenaline, his skin buzzing, his lips pressed against the dip in Zayn’s throat.

After a moment of slight hesitation, Liam does move, rolls off of Zayn and lays by his side. He reaches his arm out to pull Zayn close, but Zayn—

Zayn pushes him away.

And Liam thinks he’s done something wrong, something terrible, that he’s hurt Zayn as Zayn sits up on the edge of the bed like he’s collecting himself.

“Zayn?”

Zayn doesn’t say anything. In fact, he blatantly ignores Liam, stands up, and exits the room and walks into the ensuite.

He shuts the door behind him and Liam hears the lock in place before he’s quick enough to turn the doorknob.

“Zayn, love, what’s the matter?” Liam asks, leaning against the door, feeling slightly out of place as he stands there naked, listening to the steady, quick pace of Zayn’s heart. The faucet turns on, but Zayn says nothing in response, and Liam doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t leave, that’s for sure. There’s a lot; Liam tries to convince himself that Zayn is dealing with this, the blood loss, the memories, the entire night all together. 

The faucet shuts off and the door unlocks; Zayn steps out of the bathroom, looking like he’s been crying, pushing past Liam, and Liam—he’s rubbish at consoling people; how is he supposed to calm Zayn, the one person he cares for most in the world?

“Zayn, please, talk to me—“

Zayn whirls around, standing in the middle of the bedroom, eyes alight with anger. “When—I don’t know why—this was a mistake, Liam. A mistake, and I’m—how could you _take_ all of that away from me? How could you—how could you _manipulate_ me like that? You erased pieces of my _life_ , you selfish _bastard_ , I—“

Confused, Liam steps forward, reaching out for Zayn’s hand, but Zayn steps back, rescinds his body from Liam. “I—I didn’t mean—“

“You didn’t mean to? But you did, Liam. I trusted you. I thought—I don’t understand why you kept coming around if all you were going to do was take that from me. I don’t—I don’t know why you left the first time,” Zayn says, voice ringing certain in the room with a harsh resonance that doesn’t fit the way he looks tonight, “I don’t even _care_ why you left anymore. I don’t care about anything, Liam. I don’t want you. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

Liam’s voice is stuck in his throat, horrified as he watches Zayn pull the ring from his finger and throw it at Liam. Liam lets it fall to the ground, thumping against the carpet. It’s deafening.

“I don’t—I don’t want any of it. Of this. Of you coming around when it’s convenient for you. I don’t ever want to see you again, okay?” Zayn steps forward and puts his hands on Liam’s shoulders. Liam’s never seen Zayn look so entirely mad before, has never seen him like this. “I want you to take it all. Right now. I don’t want _any_ of them memories. I don’t want to have any thought whatsoever about who you were to me. Nothing. I don’t want any of it, Liam. _Take it all_. Take _everything._ ”

Liam doesn’t move for a moment, his mind running through a million thoughts, as he stares at Zayn, right in the eyes, as Zayn tells him to make him forget.

“I— _Zayn_ , I can’t do that. I _can’t_ ,” Liam pleads, but Zayn shakes his head.

“No. You don’t get to decide. Either you do it, Liam, or so help me I will find someone else. And if you—if you care about me the way you _say_ you do, you won’t let it come to that,” Zayn says, lips curled in a snarl.

Liam has never felt this kind of anguish. Not for many, _many_ years. He can’t even remember the last time he felt like crumbling, disappearing; he can’t remember ever feeling so powerless. “Zayn, you can’t make me do this.”

Zayn nods his head. “I can. You’re going to make me forget it all. Everything. All of it. The first time we met, when we kissed and fucked and you held my hand—every promise you’ve ever made—I want it all _gone._ Now, Liam!”

Liam takes in a shuddery breath; his vision blurs.

He can’t remember the last time he’s cried.

“Zayn, please don’t make me do this. Please don’t.”

“And why not?”

“Because, I love you.”

Zayn falters; his hands drop from Liam’s shoulders, resting at his sides. Zayn closes his eyes. “It doesn’t fix what you did, Liam. It doesn’t make any of this better. I’ve made up my mind. I want it gone. This is—it’s. Whatever it was, it’s done. I don’t—I don’t want this anymore.”

Liam swallows; the taste of Zayn is still thick in his mouth, warm on his tongue. Liam sighs, steps in close to Zayn so he can reach his hands out and press them to Zayn’s cheeks. He can see the tears that sit on the waterlines of Zayn’s brown eyes, but they don’t fall. Liam thinks, for just a moment, that maybe Zayn loves him, too.

It’s just one kiss, like pressing goodbye onto Zayn’s lips, and it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. It isn’t enough, but it’s all Liam can give, all he has left. Zayn kisses him back, but pulls away quickly, eyes darting away from Liam’s face.

“Please, Liam. I just—I don’t want to hurt like this anymore.”

Liam takes in a shaky breath, trying to keep composure. “Look at me, Zayn. It’ll only work if you’re looking at me, alright?” he says gently, thumbs wiping underneath Zayn’s eyes when the tears fall.

When Zayn’s eyes meet his own, the feeling is electric, and every memory he has of Zayn surfaces right to the front of his mind.

“When it’s over, you’re going to sleep, right in your bed, tucked away safely. And you might not remember me, may not ever want to see me again, but right now, know that I will never _ever_ let _anything_ happen to you.”

Zayn nods, his hands shaky where they rest on Liam’s chest.

And that’s it. Liam recalls each memory to Zayn’s mind and clears it, like deleting a file on the computer, every little detail that they’ve accumulated, every moment they’ve stolen just for themselves. He erases it all, until he’s worn down and tired, until he means absolutely nothing to the man standing in front of him.

He doesn’t fill the gaps; doesn’t think he can create false memories to replaces where he’s taken himself out. He just leaves it, a blurry haze. Humans are fickle that way. It won’t make a difference, won’t hinder him the slightest bit.

He knows Zayn will go on, live his entire life, and be happy. He knows that.

He also knows this is an entirely enormous mistake, but he can’t change it. He won’t, because Zayn’s right. All he’s done is manipulate for his own selfish gain, and this is exactly what he deserves.

Zayn collapses, a gentle weight in Liam’s arms. Liam carries him into the next room over, one that looks and smells more like Zayn than the other room did. He lays Zayn on the clean sheets, pulls the blankets over his body, presses a gentle kiss over his forehead, lingers for just a moment before he leaves the room.

It only takes him a few moments to get dressed, find his ring, change the sheets on what can only be Harry’s bed. When Liam passes the door to Zayn’s bedroom, closed all the way, he hesitates, knows this isn’t what he’s meant to do. He isn’t meant to leave.

But he does, because leaving is what he’s good at.

He steps outside of the apartment and when he turns around to walk back inside, the barrier is up again, and Liam knows this is a war he’s lost.

If that means Zayn has even the tiniest shot at happiness, well. Who is Liam to stand in his way?

No one.

Liam is no one, not even a vague memory.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please say hello on [tumblr](http://liamthirst.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
